As Time Goes By
by Blue Stone Shining Wolf
Summary: The Dimension Cannon has landed Rose in Paris, France, and the Doctor should be nearby. But when Rose finally finds him, he is not exactly the man she expected to see. Story based on a line from "The Long Game." Spoilers (sort of) through Series 2 and Turn Left.
1. Chapter 1

**As Time Goes By**

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**Disclaimer: **Doctor Who and all characters are property of the BBC. I do not own them nor make any money from them. I only spin stories for my own amusement and the entertainment of others. Any original characters are mine.

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**As Time Goes By - Chapter 1 **

_Dimension Hopping_ was the worst name for the travel that Rose was becoming all too accustomed to. It was more like _Dimension Charging_ or _Dimension Battle-Ramming_ since every trip involved breaking through the walls between dimensions. And because Rose was the one being thrust through the dimensions, she felt as fi she were the battering ram. The sensation was like being slammed through a brick wall twice: once to enter the void, and again to enter the destination dimension. And then she had to do it again to return.

Rose pondered this fact as her feet hit the ground and she tried desperately to balance without falling. No such luck. She executed a couple of awkward steps then fell forward. She only managed to not hit the ground because she grabbed for a tree on the way down. It was one of those trees that lined walking paths. Which meant people walking by caught her less-than-graceful entrance into their world. It still amazed her (as similar things had happened before) that none of them seemed to notice that she appeared out of nowhere, only that she almost spilled face-forward onto the pavement.

"Nice day," she said as she waved nonchalantly to one of the passers-by who stopped and stared longer than the others. The man just shook his head and kept walking.

She really had to work on her entrances. Not only was it potentially dangerous to fall upon entry (what if she had been on a cliff?), it was downright embarrassing. She had never been known to be an example of poise and grace (which did not change when she suddenly found herself the heiress of the Vitex fourtune), but neither was she naturally clumsy. Therefore, she blamed the delivery system. The device that made her jumps possible was a Dimension Cannon, so perhaps _Dimension Bombing_ was the best term for her travels. After all, the process was very much like being used as an unwieldy weapon that so far had done more damage than it had fixed. Not only did she enter parallel universes with a lack of decorum, she was also creating gaping holes between the universes and risking that the entire fabric of reality be torn asunder. But at least she had good intentions, right?

Rose frowned and loosened her grip on the tree. She had to remind herself of her purpose quite regularly, or she would find herself overcome with shame. It is rather poetic to say you would tear heaven and earth apart to be with someone you loved. However, it is quite selfish to actually do it. But she wouldn't have done it if that were the only reason, no matter how tempted she might have been. She had dusted off then re-shelved Torchwood's Dimension Cannon project several times before she had approved it. They were taking an incredible gamble, but the stakes were really high: The stars were going out. All of reality in all of the dimensions was disappearing.

And of course, she was the one to lead the program and volunteer to be the battering ram because she was the one with the connection to the Doctor. The fact that she had professed her love, and that he did not quite done so when she last saw him, was a side issue. She had to be the one to find out what was happening and tell him.

Danger had been her only concern when Rose jumped the first time. But soon the whole mission became nothing but a giant heartache, and she would have loved to pass the job on to someone else. In world after world, she witnessed the same heartbreaking image of the man she loved (or at least some parallel version of him) laid out on a stretcher after his death being carried away as his sonic screwdriver fell from his hand.

Rose shuddered at this memory as she looked around and tried to get her bearings. At least _that_ part of the nightmare was over. After more research and more jumps, the Torchwood team had discovered that the incident centered around one ordinary decision by a woman named Donna Noble, a companion of the Doctor's after Rose. By teaming with UNIT in her original homeworld, Rose had managed to use the abandoned Tardis to add rudimentary Time Travel to the Dimension Cannon. Then Rose had had to convince Donna to go back and choose the turn that would allow her to cross paths with the Doctor.

The mission with Donna had been completed seven jumps ago. Rose was now on a mission to find the Doctor in his restored timeline and enlist his help. A few jumps before Rose found Donna, the Torchwood team had been able to restrict the jumps to Rose's original world. That meant that wherever Rose was, she was _home. _It was true she had lived in the parallel world for three years, but it was not her home. It was just the place she resided.

Of course, "home" was a relative concept. She was in her universe and on her Earth. But she still had to determine the date and more specific location of her landing. That didn't prove too hard. Once she turned completely around, she realized that the tree she had been hugging was at the edge of a park directly across the street from the Eiffel Tower. Rose walked a few paces to a rubbish bin marked specifically for paper and pulled out a newspaper. Assuming it was today's paper, it was the eighteenth of July, in the year 2008. The page she was holding appeared to be the sports section. Though in French, the headline and full-color photographs of bicyclists let her know that she was there in the midst of the Tour de France.

Another look at the paper made Rose's head spin. The words had changed and now appeared to be written in a mix of French and English. That meant that the Tardis was somewhere nearby and at least somewhat recognized her. And if the Cannon was working properly, the Doctor should also recognize her when she found him.

Torchwood had incorporated the technology from a sonic screwdriver into the Dimension Cannon. Rose had confiscated it after she witnessed yet another Doctor laid out on a stretcher. With it they were able to program the cannon to look for its twin. During early jumps, Rose had had some odd encounters with Doctors that she did not recognize, and she had been forced to think on her feet to avoid any paradoxes. After the third incident, the Torchwood president (her adopted yet genetically-matched father) insisted that Rose carry a quick disguise to make things run more smoothly. However, this new programming ensured that Rose would only encounter the Doctor that she had traveled with, and therefore made the disguise unnecessary. Unfortunately, the Time Travel technology was shaky, and she was never sure where in the most recent Doctor's timeline she would end up.

At least the team had narrowed the proximity range to about two city blocks of his Tardis. The only problem was, the Tardis could leave so quickly, that by the time Rose had oriented herself to her surroundings, the Doctor could already be gone. Or he could simply be lost in the crowd.

The last complication in her search for the Doctor was the duration of her jump. It fluctuated with no sort of predictability. She could have as short as ten minutes or as long as twenty four hours. Rose pushed a button on one of two wristwatchs that she wore on her left hand. The face swung open on a hinge and revealed another face. It looked like a multi-colored pie with only one watch hand. The had currently pointed to a green pie piece at the location where the six should be. And though it did not appear to be moving, Rose knew it was moving anti-clockwise toward the mauve piece at the twelve position. According to her timer, she had twelve hours.

Rose closed the watch face and consulted the slightly larger watch which she wore just below the first watch. This one, like the Cannon, was programmed to seek out the sonic screwdriver. A glow behind the face of the otherwise-normally-functioning watch would indicate how close she was to technology that matched the sonic's. Right now it was glowing amber, which meant that the Doctor was "relatively nearby." The color coding had been Rose's idea: She wanted technology that, if apprehended by someone she did not trust, would not spell out her intentions. However, the Torchwood techs never told her an actual measurement for each color. She just knew that the blue of "in the immediate vicinity" was better than amber, the mauve of "quite far" was worse, and that no glow meant that no signal could be detected at all. Rose now had to begin her one-sided game of "Hunt the Thimble" and hoped nobody thought she was nutters for checking her watch every few seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**As Time Goes By - Chapter 2**

By discreetly glancing at the large display of someone's smart phone, Rose was able to synchronize her watches to Paris time. It was sixteen minutes past noon. That meant she was stuck there until just after midnight. _Oh well_, she thought. _There could be worse places than Paris to be marooned for half a day._

Her next problem was determining how to search for the Doctor. She couldn't very well stare at her watch and move in a widening concentric circle, no matter how efficient it would be. She had to think like the Doctor and guess why he might be there.

She crossed the street and walked to the base of the Eifel Tower. All around her were posters for the Tour de France.

That was it! The Doctor had once taken her to see the 2012 Olympic Games in London. Once they had solved the crisis in the neighborhood, they had remained in the area and attended several different events. It was such a lovely time, and very much like a proper holiday. It would make sense for the Doctor to want to do something equally as fun for Donna, whom Rose had learned had become the Doctor's best mate. Rose decided the next plan of action was to obtain a map of the route and see if the Doctor and Donna were stationed there.

Ten minutes later, Rose stared in utter confusion at a map outlining the route of the 95th Annual Tour de France. According to the route, the cyclists were somewhere in the southeast area of the country, and it would be a week before they made it up north to Paris. Why on earth wouldn't the Doctor have set the Tardis to land at the finish line when the cyclists were actually there? It was possible that he miscalculated, but that meant that he was likely to leave soon to correct his mistake. And if that were the case, Rose had no time to lose. Ignoring her watch, she ran toward the Arc de Triomphe—the location of the finish line—and hoped she would be able to catch the pair before they left.

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Since there was a week until cyclists would be present, the area around the Arc de Triomphe was no more crowded than it would have been on any other summer day, except that a few people were standing to take pictures in front of some of the decorations and banners that had been put up specifically for the event. Rose scanned the people milling by, looking for a woman with ginger hair or a man wearing either a blue suit or a brown pinstriped one. A few times she had seen a woman with ginger hair, but when Rose approached for a better look, none of them resembled Donna in the slightest. And in the warm summer sun, not a single person was wearing a suit and tie.

Rose sat down on a bench that was in the circle surrounding the arch. The running and searching had made her overheated and dehydrated. She took her small black messenger bag off her shoulder, removed a plastic water pack and drank it without pausing for a breath. Then she removed the purple leather jacket she had been wearing, but had been too preoccupied to think about, and did her best to fold it compactly. It took up the remaining room in the bag, but that was preferable to wearing it in temperatures that had to be around twenty-four degrees Celsius. Wearing just her maroon cotton tank top allowed her to feel the breeze on her arms, and she felt instant relief. Still, she didn't have time to rest. She looked down at her watches. Both of them indicated that it was nearing two-thirty in the afternoon, and despite being more than a few blocks away from her start point and the fact that Rose had searched for two hours, the second watch still glowed amber. There had to be some incredible inaccuracies in both the navigation and tracking systems. If she ended up having to jump again, she was going to have to work with the team's technical expert, Toshiko Sato, to get some of those things worked out before she did. It _was _possible that the Doctor had been moving in the same direction at the same speed she had been, but that seemed unlikely. The only other possibility worth exploring was that the Doctor was somewhere near the midpoint between the Eiffel Tower and the Arc. Perhaps in her haste to get to the Arc, she had not seen the watch face switch temporarily to blue.

With no other plan to go on, Rose retraced her path, checking her watch frequently. Since she was having no luck finding the Doctor, she decided to look instead for the Tardis. If she found it, she could always wait outside for the Doctor to return. She had quite a long stay this time, and it would be nightfall before she had to leave. She did a double take at a couple of blue portable toilets that had been set up in anticipation of the race, but she reached what should be the halfway point with no sight of a blue police box. Even more discouraging: her watch was still steadily glowing amber.

"Amber's good," she said out loud. "Amber means he's here." But this had not been the first trip in which an amber glow had led her on a game of chase that ended nowhere. Still, that is what she was there for. Rose decided to do her best to canvas the area. It was entirely too early to give up.

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Three hours later, Rose was tired, thirsty, and hungry. She had eaten the ridiculous energy bar that was supposed to be a meal and—because of the heat of the day—had gone through all three packs of water, though they were supposed to rationed to last twelve hours each. (She had also, therefore, needed to use the toilet and did another double take at each blue plastic box she had passed.) Rose was almost halfway through her stay, and she was no closer to finding the Doctor than when she had started. The team back home would disagree with her next move, but she didn't care. She twirled the thin gold bracelet on her right wrist. She needed a real meal to keep her spirits up if she was going to continue her search. And that meant she needed money.

Rose needed directions. She paused and listened to the people talking as they passed by. It all still sounded like a mixture of French and English, and she couldn't tell which one was stronger. She decided her best bet was to speak English and find a Parisian that spoke English as well. If they heard her speaking French and answered in the hybrid language she heard around her, she hoped she would get enough information to help her.

"Excuse me, sir," she said to a slightly portly older man with a pleasant face. "Do you know where I might find a shop that buys and sells jewlery?"

"You are English?" asked the man.

"Afraid so," she said with a smile.

"My sister lives in Brighton," he told her. He had an accent, but unless the Tardis was assisting her understanding, he spoke English fluently.

Rose nodded, not knowing what else to say.

"There are several places along the Champs-Élysées that will buy and sell jewelry," the man told her. "But if you are looking for the best, go to _Les Bijoux de Méchant Loup._ They have beautiful antiques." He looked at her wrist. "They also have the finest collection of watches."

The man then wrote out directions on a scrap of paper and handed it to her.

"Thank you," said Rose. She put the paper in the pocket of her jeans. She held out her hand for a handshake, but the man lifted it to his lips and kissed it. Rose felt the color rise in her cheeks.

"_Adieu, Mademoiselle_," he said as he let go of her hand. "May you find what your heart desires."

"Thank you," she said again. "I really hope I do."

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**Author's Note:** For fun, run the Jewlery store's name through Google Translate.


	3. Chapter 3

**As Time Goes By - Chapter 3**

The Doctor opened the doors of the Tardis, groaned at the sight before him, and shut the doors again.

"Very funny," he barked to his sentient ship. "Just because some scarf-loving version of myself said Paris was a good place to relax, does _not_ mean I wanted to come here!" He turned away from the double doors, took a few steps up the ramp, and then stopped again. "I haven't been that man for a long time," he said. "And if you haven't noticed, I'm not really in the mood for cheering up."

The Tardis made a low hum in response.

"I'm also not in the mood for a ship that argues back," he snapped as he walked up the ramp to the console. "I should've ignored the little brunette and taken the Mark Four like I had planned."

The Tardis whirred, and the Doctor could sense that it was trying to console him.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might not _want_ to be comforted?" he yelled in the direction of the glowing time rotor. "Did it ever occur to you that I don't bloody DESERVE IT?" He hit the console with his fist then cursed in Gallifreyan in response to the pain. He shouted three more curse words in his native language then buried his face in his hands. There was not another living soul in the universe who would have understood what he just said.

The Doctor flipped a switch that moved the Tardis a half mile away and off the beaten path, then he slumped onto the jump seat. Sometimes he hated his infernal machine. He deserved every bit of the pain he felt. He deserved to have the images of Arcadia as it burned seared into his mind as part of his penance. He deserved to hear the screams of the children echo in his ear for the rest of his days. His people were gone—the guilty and innocent alike—and it was his fault.

"I should have died," he said to himself. Then he said it again with a shout, "I should have DIED!"

He stood up and pulled the fob watch out of his waistcoat pocket. "All that history," he said staring at the watch on the chain. He looked at the circular script adorning the watch cover. "All that culture."

The Doctor had not always agreed with the ways of the Time Lords. In fact, he had sometimes been downright rebellious in his objection. Still, Gallifrey had been his home, and the Time Lords were his people. Now all that was left of them was his ship and his watch. He unthreaded the watch chain from his waistcoat then turned the watch over in his hand several times. Though it was technically under ten ounces, the weight of it was greater than anything he could imagine. It had become for the Doctor the reminder of the Time War and the genocide committed by his hand.

As if it had suddenly become a hot coal, the Doctor flung the watch away. "NO!" he shouted. "NO MORE!"

The watch flew across the center of the console room, hitting a coral strut on the side opposite the jump seat. When it hit, the case sprang open, and the glass covering the face was shattered. Then the watch clattered to the ground as gears and other small watch pieces scattered and fell through the holes in the grating that covered the floor.

The Doctor stood motionless for several seconds, dumbfounded by his actions and the resulting effect. Then he laughed derisively, as if the watch had done something to deserve its fate. He continued with a pain-filled laugh until the laughter had turned to sobs. He fell to his knees and attempted to pick up the broken pieces of his watch. Some of them were inaccessible without getting under the grating, and many other pieces would need to be replaced or repaired. It felt like some sort of symbolic commentary on his life, but he wasn't sure if his life was even worth fixing.

As he knelt on the grating holding the pieces of the fob watch in his hand, a memory flashed into his mind. His granddaughter, Susan, had just started at Coal Hill School in Shoreditch, England, and had become fascinated with human riddles—especially the ones intended purely for humor rather than to challenge one's wit. In the evenings she would come home from school with several riddles to tell her beloved grandfather, and he would chuckle at the simplicity of the punch line while delighting at the twinkle in her eyes. He recalled two riddles about timepieces that Susan had once told and chuckled like he had those many years ago. Susan would not have wanted him to give up.

"What do you get when the last remaining Time Lord throws his watch across the room?" he said to his ship as he stood up. He paused for effect the way Susan used to do. The corner of his mouth turned in a wry smile as he headed for the double doors. "Time to get a new watch."


	4. Chapter 4

**As Time Goes By – Chapter 4**

Rose looked at the directions the kind gentleman had given her. They were very clear and included a rudimentary map as well. The directions also assumed she was going to be using the Metro, but since her purpose for visiting the jewelry store in the first place was to obtain some money, she would have to save the luxury of using the subway system for her return trip. Rose had never mastered the Doctor's knack for getting people to provide food, lodging, and other needed items at no charge, but she had become an expert at bartering. It was for this reason, and not decoration that she wore two simple gold bracelets on her right hand, and a silver ring on the smallest finger of her right hand. Only her gold hoop earrings reflected who she really was; she had been wearing them when she met the Doctor and almost never took them off. She used to have a simple silver chain necklace around her neck and two gold rings on her left hand, but they had been traded or sold for needed items during past jumps. Her father/boss thought she was a bit liberal in her definition of a necessary reason to trade in her jewelry. But what benefit was there to being wealthy if she could not use it to help make her a jumps bit more comfortable? It wasn't as if she was squandering her newfound fortune. Despite living in a larger home, her spending habits had not really changed. She didn't even go clothes shopping. Like the Doctor, she had adopted a uniform of sorts, and wore the same (or identical) items every day. So if she had to experience the sensation of crashing through the walls of the universe and the emotionally exhaustive turmoil of the search, she should at least be allowed to have a real meal when she was stuck on longer jumps.

The walk to the shop was mostly pleasant. Because she was not using the Metro, there were a few instances in which she had to improvise to ensure she kept heading toward her destination, but she had a good sense of direction and managed this easily. The only thing that was less than ideal was the summer heat. Perspiration made her long blond hair stick to the back of her neck, while small tendrils in front stuck to her forehead and temples. When she was a teen, she often wore a spare hair elastic around her wrist in case she needed one. Rose was beginning to think that it might be a good habit to get back into.

Rose was mulling over the idea of popping into a beauty supply shop once she obtained some money and buying something to tie her hair back when she walked by a bus stop bench and noticed a dark pink hat sitting on it. It was the same type of floppy straw hat that Rose had seen on the cover of tabloid magazines, paired with sunglasses, and worn by actresses who had hopes that it would help conceal their identity. Rose looked around. There were no people waiting for the bus and no pedestrians in the immediate vicinity. Whatever bus the owner of the hat had been waiting for had departed long ago. Rose decided she was as good a recipient as any for the found hat, so she twisted her hair up and stuffed it under the hat. She made sure to get every last strand so that no stray hair would get in her way or end up being stuck to the side of her face.

Rose examined her work in the glossy surface of the advertisement behind the bus stop bench. Though it had been a long time since she had paid any serious attention to her appearance, she was pleased with the result. Her hair was completely contained by the hat, and the shade of pink coordinated fairly well with her maroon shirt. However, the hat elevated her overall look from primarily utilitarian to slightly fashionable, and that did not go well with a face that was flushed from the heat and streaked with dirt and sweat. Rose pulled a small packet that contained a moist towellette from the pocket of her jeans, ripped it open, and used the towellette to cleanse and cool her face and neck. She felt much better, but the hat made her feel that her appearance was lacking something.

Rose sat at the bus stop bench and opened her messenger bag. From somewhere under her jacket, she managed to locate and remove the all-in-one make-up compact that she kept in case she needed to make a quick change to her appearance. With the help of her mother, a former beautician, she had mastered a look that was more sophisticated than any look she had sported in her time with the Doctor. The style Rose had perfected also drew attention to facial features (such as her cheek bones) that were not normallyas noticeable. This included using green eye shadow to bring out the green eye color of colored contacts that accompanied the cosmetics case and disguised her normally hazel-brown eyes. The contacts were not really necessary now that the only version of the Doctor that she would encounter would be the last one she had seen, but she only knew one way to use the kit. And since she was in Paris about to sell her jewelry, it wouldn't hurt for her to look a bit more done up. Rose shrugged. She put in the contacts and proceeded to apply her make-up. The finished look made her smile lifted her spirits. She was in Paris and looked like she belonged. Even if she didn't locate the Doctor, she determined to give herself a bit of a rest and enjoy the rest of her afternoon and evening in the City of Lights.

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It took twenty-five minutes on foot, including Rose's brief pause at the bus stop, to reach _Les Bijoux de Méchant Loup_. An old fashioned bell above the doorway tinkled as she opened the door and entered the shop. The bell was only the first item that gave the small shop an old fashioned feel. A small shelf at the front of the store displayed about ten clocks that all had to be fifty years old or older. Everything inside, save the glass in the jewelry display case toward the back, seemed to be made of an old dark wood, and a wooden facade even camouflaged the two cash registers that sat at the ends of the jewelry case.

"_Bonjour_," Rose said to the man and woman who were standing behind the case.

They responded back in the same hybrid language that she had been hearing all day. Rose had taken to calling it "Frenglish" in her mind. She did not know enough French to understand the words that were not in English and wished that the Tardis (wherever it was) would translate for her more accurately so that she could sound a bit more poised and professional when attempting a business transaction. But since that didn't seem to be the case, she hoped that the gentleman she had met earlier had been kind enough to direct her to a store in which the proprietors also spoke English.

"I'm sorry," she said as she approached the pair. "I don't speak French very well."

"No matter," said the man. He appeared to be in his fifties with a receding hairline. "We speak English too. Many American tourists."

"Right," said Rose with a bit of a forced smile. She decided not to mention that she was English. "I have a bracelet I don't need, and I wanted to trade it in for a hat pin." Rose thought things would go much more smoothly if she looked interested in the shop's wares rather than trying to acquire some cash. She took off her bracelet and showed the man, and he took out a tray of hat pins for Rose to admire. Now it was just up to her to use her skills to haggle for the best trade and end up with enough money for a decent meal and any other expenses she might face.

Rose took her time choosing in order to appear to be a sincere customer. During this time, Rose heard the tinkling of the bell above the door twice. First, a couple entered and expressed an interest in rings. (At least that is what the "Frenglish" sounded like.) The male jeweler helped them while Rose narrowed her choices down to three pins. While the couple was still there, the bell sounded again, and Rose saw a man enter from the corner of her eye. She wondered if perhaps he was a local transient, because he walked with a slow uncertain manner with shoulders slumped and he was wearing clothes that were ill-fitting and disheveled. Rose listened while she examined the pins in front of her as the man used "Frenglish" and (if Rose understood correctly) asked to purchase a watch. The woman behind the counter assisted him without any mention of his appearance, so Rose shrugged slightly and narrowed her choice of hat pins down to two.

Soon Rose had chosen the hat pin she wanted. It consisted of a pearl and a pink colored crystal that matched the hat. (She knew from the beginning that she would choose one of the two least expensive ones, but Rose had purposely eyed the more expensive ones for show.) The couple left without a purchase as Rose moved on to negotiate the trade. The remaining customer moved down the display case examining the watches until he was just a few paces from Rose. His back was turned and he stared down at the glass.

Rose and the jeweler settled on a value, and she watched as the jeweler walked over to the cash register to complete the sale. She continued to look in the direction of the jeweler who still had her bracelet, but she could tell the male customer must have chosen a watch because the woman behind the counter quoted him a price.

"One hundred and fifteen Euros," the woman said, seemingly in English. (But perhaps numbers were easier for the Tardis to translate.)

The man must have been distracted admiring the watch, because she heard him say "_Répétez, s'il vous plait,_" Which Rose knew meant "Repeat, please" even without translation

"Two hundred and thirty Euros," the woman told him. Rose turned slightly and could see just the hands of the man as he handed over two hundred and fifty euros.

"You just got seriously cheated, mate," Rose said to herself under her breath when the woman had walked over to the cash register.

"I did?" said the man with a tone of surprise. "I guess I wasn't paying attention." He was clearly speaking English, and it sounded like he was a Northerner.

"Yeah," she said. "Charged you double." She took her eyes off the jeweler and turned to face the man next to her. "Maybe you should have just used Eng—"

Rose's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. In front of her was the Doctor. But not the skinny Doctor with the awesome hair and pinstripes: it was her first Doctor, but looking like she had never seen him before, and purchasing the watch she had seen on him since the day she met him. This was early for this regeneration—_very_ early.

"I..." she began, having no idea what to say next. Part of her wanted to turn and run before creating some horrible paradox, but the other part wanted to hold onto him and never let go again. Oh, how she missed him! She had been so focused on finding the Doctor she had lost at Canary Wharf that she had forgotten the pain of losing him when he was like this—well _almost_ like this. She missed his sarcasm and his cheek, and his sense of self-confidence when there was no evidence he should have any. And she missed his steel blue eyes—eyes that were looking at her right now expecting her to say more.

"Nothing," she said. "Never mind. You just might want to take more care next time."

"Probably right," he said. "I imagine it is quite easy for a foreigner to be taken advantage of if they're not paying attention."

"Quite right," she said hastily, trying to turn away. She glanced down at her watch, which was now a brilliant blue. She must have been too distracted with her purchase to notice.

"But you're not from around here, either, are you?" asked the Doctor. He _would_ decide to get chatty on her, and he wasn't even the one with the giant gob!

"No. England," she said. She was suddenly glad her accent had been somewhat changed by being forced to mingle with so many people in the upper crust. It made it less easy to place her regionally. She was also very thankful that her hair was hidden and her eye color disguised. Hopefully, the Doctor would not recognize her when he found her sometime in his future in the basement of Henrik's. Now she just needed to take her cash and hide out somewhere until midnight. Where was that jeweler, anyway?

"Well, it's just money," the Doctor said when Rose didn't say anymore. "At least the watch is nice."

Rose couldn't help but look over at the watch. "Yes, it's lovely," she agreed. She felt a lump in her throat and the sudden urge to cry.

After what seemed like hours, but was likely less than a minute, the jeweler returned with her money.

"See you then," she said to the Doctor, who was still waiting for his change and a receipt.

"Bye," said the Doctor with a smile and an all-too-familiar wave.

Rose smiled back at him a bit mournfully and left the store, the cheery tinkling of the bell ringing in her ears. As soon as she left the shop, she walked briskly down the street towards the Champs-Élysées Gardens. Then she found a secluded bench under a tree and let herself cry.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I do not speak French at all, so if it is wrong, let's blame it on Rose's lousy connection to the Tardis, okay?

**Purple Guest:** Thanks for the reviews. Rose's task is daunting, but I'd like to think she is up to the task. I'd also like to assume the Tardis would find humor in her comparison to port-a-pottys. I do feel bad for the Doctor in Chapter 3. Who knows what meeting Rose might do...


	5. Chapter 5

**As Time Goes By – Chapter 5**

The Doctor had a watch. Now what?

He would have to enhance and calibrate it in order for it to function as a proper Time Lord watch, of course. The upgrade would take maybe thirty minutes, and then he would be able to use it as a scanner, detect dangerous situations with it, instantly synch to local time, and—most importantly—indicate the era he was in. But what would he need it for? Where would he travel, and why?

He had spent years running—partly because he was bored and partly because he didn't agree with how the Time Lords ran things. But now he was the only one who remained. He tried to tell himself he had no choice. He had tried repeatedly to end the Time War some other way, but if he had not used the Moment to destroy both sides—Dalek and Time Lord alike—then the whole universe would have been destroyed. It was for the greater good. But that utilitarian judgment call now haunted him. Even if there really had been no other way, he had to do something in memoriam of the innocents that had been sacrificed and to make amends for the destruction he had caused. He would do his best to stop every catastrophe that was not a fixed point, and do it while letting both sides live. His life would not be one of fun and adventure, but of penance. It would also be lonely. Not only were there no Time Lords, he would not have any more companions with him on the Tardis. A life that dangerous would put others in harm's way, and he couldn't deliberately do that. From now on, he would be traveling alone.

The Doctor worked on the watch while he considered where to go next. He couldn't stay on a Paris side street, after all. He could always set the Tardis scanners to detect danger and then chase it the way storm chasers followed tornados. It was dangerous, but maybe he could do some good.

The watch was finished. The Doctor strapped the black leather band around his wrist and admired the look of the rectangular watch face. It was the only thing he was wearing that felt comfortable. It was likely also the only thing he was wearing that looked good. This new incarnation was a bit taller and thinner than he had been previously, so his clothes did not fit exactly right. They were also old and battle-worn. He was not that warrior anymore. If he were to act like a proper doctor, then the clothes that brought up the phantoms of his past would have to go.

The Doctor was about to head towards the wardrobe and choose something new, when he was caught off guard by intense hunger pains. It hadn't been that long since he regenerated, and he was weak. He needed energy more than he needed a new look. Besides, he was in a city renowned for its cuisine. He couldn't go to Paris and not eat the food. The Doctor's memory was a bit foggy on the details of past visits to Paris, and what he _did_ remember didn't involve leisurely dining experiences, so he used the Tardis monitor to search for a restaurant. The Tardis called up an internet site for tourists called _The Guide Book_ and the Doctor mulled over his choices. In the end they all sounded very much the same. His best bet was just to throw himself in. He ended up choosing a place based on its name: _Café__ de la Paix_. Peace is exactly what he needed. (He was fairly certain the Tardis would have said, "I told you so," if it could talk outright.)

He looked at his new watch. It was twenty minutes past seven, the perfect time for an evening meal. The Doctor set the controls on the console and moved the Tardis to a location across the street from the café.

* * *

Rose allowed herself to cry for as long as she needed to. After all, there wasn't anything left for her to do during this jump. She found the Doctor, but it had been the wrong one. Now she had to concentrate on _avoiding_ him instead. A bench under the shade of a few trees was as good a spot as any to do this. So she let the tears fall as she felt the disappointment of not finding the Doctor as she expected him, the fear that she never would find the right Doctor, and the fresh pain from seeing a face she thought was lost to her forever.

Rose had had been just as unprepared for the pain and loss that afternoon as she had been when the Doctor had changed right in front of her. Even though he had been wearing the same clothes, Rose had a hard time believing that the new man staring back at her was the same man who had just bade her farewell. And even after she had accepted on a surface level that it was really him with all the same memories, she didn't think she could carry on as if nothing had changed. Even on Christmas, when he defeated the Sycorax then shared Christmas dinner with her, things were awkward. For the week that they remained in London, she would steal glances at him looking for evidence of _her_ Doctor, the one for which she had stared into the Heart of the Tardis. While some core things remained the same, his essence and personality was very different.

Rose left again with him in the Tardis, but at first she couldn't help but look back. Even as she grew to accept the new Doctor, there was always a place in her heart that missed who he had been before. But it hadn't mattered. She was still with the Doctor, and she loved every minute of it. Then she lost him, and both versions of him occupied that lonely place in her heart. It wasn't until she saw the blue-eyed short-cropped version of the Doctor in the jewelry shop that she realized that there was a separate pain for each of them. Eventually she would find the right Doctor and one of those hurts would vanish. But the other would remain, and there was nothing that could be done to change that.

After the sadness had abated some, Rose felt angry. First she was angry at the Torchwood team (Toshiko in particular) for not fine-tuning the Cannon to weed out sonic screwdrivers that were older or lacking certain software. Then she was angry at herself for not realizing that there had not been any essential differences between the sonic used by the leather-clad Doctor and the one worn by the Doctor who favored suits and sand shoes.

After some time, Rose was able calm herself down and regain some decorum. A glance in the mirror of her compact let her know she needed to freshen up, so she went into a shop and found the public washroom. Once inside, she was able to wash her face, redo her make-up, and comb out her hair with the collapsible brush that was in her bag. The temperature had cooled some, so she had no need of the hat, but she did worry about the small chance of running into the Doctor again. One glance at her watch let her know that he was still "relatively nearby."

There was one more item she could use to alter her appearance. Rose fished around in her bag, inconvenienced by the jacket folded up inside, and pulled out a cylindrical tin that was the same length, but slightly wider than her tube of lipstick. It contained a foam that would instantly dye hair and last for about twenty-four hours. It could be used conveniently without gloves or other items meant to protect skin and clothing from being stained because it only affected hair cells. Torchwood in the parallel world may not have blatantly stolen alien technology the way the Torchwood did in this world ("If it's alien it's ours"), but they did adopt technology that fell into their laps or that was willingly shared. This was one example.

There was no one else in the room, so Rose quickly uncapped the tin, applied the foam to her hair, and massaged it in. She watched in the mirror and marveled as her dirty-blond hair turned black before her eyes. She had only used the instant dye once as a practice at Torchwood, but that tin had been a light auburn. The change the black hair made to her overall look was striking, especially in contrast to her artificially green eyes.

Rose stared at the strange reflection for a few moments before noticing she was still wearing her gold hoop earrings. She took them out and stuffed them in her bag, then gathered her things to go. Now that she was adequately disguised, she could move about Paris with a bit more freedom. Rose would be cautious, of course, but she still needed something to eat. She was about to ask someone for restaurant suggestions when she saw a newsstand that had a display of brochures for tourists. She browsed the brochures advertising famous Parisian eateries and settled on one that was a historic site loved by painters and poets: _Café__ de la Paix_.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: The _Café de la Paix _is a famous café that opened in 1862 and was declared a historic site in 1975. The interior is more like a museum than a restaurant, but it also has the outside dining that Paris is known for. It has been featured in two paintings by the artist Konstantin Korovin, in the early twentieth century.


	6. Chapter 6

**As Time Goes By - Chapter 6**

Rose was glad that she had money now and could take the Metro. It's not that she wasn't able to walk—in fact she could run, scale fences, jump ditches, and crawl quickly into small spaces if the situation called for it—but she was hungry and did not feel like wasting time getting to her restaurant of choice. She did, however, stop into a high-end store near the entrance of the Metro and purchase a white silk long-sleeved blouse that she had seen in the display window. She had decided to dine outside on the terrace, and thought she might want more than a tank top now that the sun was a bit lower in the sky and a breeze had picked up. As soon as Rose had left the store, she put the blouse on over her tank top and buttoned it, leaving the first three buttons open to create a layered look. She could have just worn her leather jacket, but she figured that she might as well wear something worthy of the high prices and reputation of the establishment. Once on the Metro, Rose used her mobile phone to call ahead and reserve a table for herself. It had been a long emotional day, and she didn't feel like having to wait or to risk the chance that she would be turned away.

When Rose reached the café, she was in awe. It was part of _Le Grand Hotel_ and was located on a corner left of the _Opéra-Garnier_ opera house. The decor was from the era of Napolean III, and the paintings, columns, and gilded trim made Rose feel as if she had stepped into a palace rather than a restaurant. But despite the ornate surroundings, the ambiance supplied by the staff and patrons was warm and relaxed. This was especially true of the terrace in which Rose had reserved a seat. The spectacular view of the opera house was juxtaposed with the casual atmosphere of patrons enjoying a leisurely meal as they watched people passing by. Rose was glad her table was reserved. A casual atmosphere did not mean that the place was empty. If she had not called ahead, she might have been waiting a long time.

The hostess seated Rose at a small table with two chairs that was one of many identical tables that lined the pavement in a single file row. Then she handed Rose the _Menu Terrasse. _One of Rose's reasons for choosing the terrace was that the fare was simpler and a bit more reasonably priced than the interior restaurant while still feeling "French." Though becoming an heiress had required Rose to attend social events that involved caviar and goose pate, deep down she was still more of a fish-and-chips type of girl.

As Rose was trying to decide between the beef tartare and the smoked salmon, a waiter placed a glass of wine in front of her. "Cabernet Sauvignon," he said.

"_Merci_," she said, "but I didn't order this."

"It is compliments of a gentleman at the bar," the waiter told her. Rose wasn't sure if the run-in with the Doctor had kicked the translation matrix into gear or if the waiter was speaking English (she assumed the latter because there were still sounds of the French language all around her), but that was not important. She was intrigued by the glass of wine and the mystery giver. She thought such a move was only done by people in films. Should she just go ahead and accept it though she had no idea who had ordered it? If so, it helped with her meal selection. A red wine of that sort went best with beef.

Rose thanked the waiter again and told him to extend her gratitude to the gentleman at the bar. Then she ordered the beef tartare. She sipped her drink and she watched the people passing by. She hoped that nothing else came from the free wine.

"Do you have the time?" said a cheerful and distinctively familiar Northern voice from behind her. Rose could see the blue glow coming from her watch.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine," she mumbled to herself without turning around. She knew she had changed a word in the famous quote and was not using it in its original context, but somehow it fit. One of the activities that had helped Rose and her new father bond was relaxing on Sunday afternoons watching classic films. _Casablanca_ had been the most recent. And while she was not in a gin joint, and she certainly had no ownership of the café, it did feel like a ghost from her past was haunting her. Knowing that the main characters in the film had fallen in love in Paris didn't help matters either.

"Sorry?" asked the Doctor.

"Nothin', " she said as she turned around to look at the Time Lord standing next to her table. Then she cursed inwardly. That word had come out sounding very much like her original London-Estuary accent and she didn't need him recalling that voice sometime in his future. But she also couldn't be rude. "Eight o'clock," she said, attempting to use the "posh" Received Pronunciation (though she knew she did not have it exactly right).

"What?" the Doctor asked, confused.

"You asked the time," she said simply. "Though it wouldn't' seem necessary since you just bought..." Rose stopped and shook her head. "Oh, right."

The Doctor grinned with a closed-mouth smile that stretched across his whole face. Rose had really missed that smile. "Now she's gettin' it," he said.

"So's that supposed to be some sort of chat-up line?" she asked. It was a bit too flirtatious and her accent was all over the place, but most of her forgot to be concerned about those details.

The Doctor looked horrified. "No!" he said. "Ice breaker. Conversation starter. That's it."

Rose couldn't help but smile at his embarrassed protests. She also felt the need to put him at ease. "I understand. But, if it had been an attempt for my affections, I would have been completely flattered."

Rose thought he saw the tips of the Doctor's ears turn pink. She had said enough. She should send him on his way, but she just couldn't. "Was it you who ordered the wine?" she asked. "I was just pondering its significance."

"Part of a scheme, honestly," he said. "I came here for a meal but got stuck waiting at the bar till a table opened. Then I saw your hat sitting on the table."

"And you ordered me a drink hoping I'd invite you to dine with me," she said, predicting where his explanation was going.

"A bit desperate, me," he said shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She smiled warmly at him. Then, ignoring the voice of reason that told her she was making a terrible mistake, she said in her best RP accent, "There's plenty of room for two. Please do have a seat."

* * *

**Author Notes:** I have been attempting to post a chapter a day. My short story that was only supposed to take a weekend got a little longer than I was first planning. But I apologize about posting this one a bit late. I had three episodes of Once Upon a Time to watch after some busy weeks and, well, Doctor Who isn't my ONLY fandom. :)

I will do my best to post about once a day till this is done, then I can get back to my longer story before I am chased with torches and pitchforks for my delay.

**Purple Guest:** Yes fate seems to be pushing them together. One has to wonder if fate is a bit lupine in form.


	7. Chapter 7

**As Time Goes By – Chapter 7**

The Doctor felt a bit guilty for interrupting the young woman's solitude. The way she positioned her chair toward the pavement to watch the people walking by, rather than keeping it straight to face him in the chair opposite hers, was likely a sign that she had only allowed him to sit with her out of kindness and a sense of obligation. He should have just waited the two hours that the hostess had estimated it would take to get a table or left and found an American burger chain at which he could have eaten instantly. But he was already there, and he was determined to stay.

He had been waiting at the bar when he saw her. He had only gotten a glimpse of the woman in the watch and jewelry shop, but he knew it was the same face he had seen earlier. The hat sitting on the table with the new hat pin stuck through it confirmed this. Funny—for some reason he hadn't expected her to have black hair. (And he was pretty certain it was not possible, but it seemed as if he had seen her face before in a dream or some misty memory.) When he noticed her, the young woman had been looking at her menu and chewing on her bottom lip as if she were in deep thought over her menu choices. Though he knew nothing about her (other than the fact that she had hawked a rather expensive bracelet just to get a hat pin), he felt certain that there was something about her that set her apart from everyone else in the busy cafe.

The Doctor planned to leave immediately after having his meal. He would put the Tardis into the vortex and allow himself to fully recover from his recent regeneration before keeping his promise to make amends for his actions. And since this was that last time he would focus on his own happiness, he had made the bold move to order the intriguing woman a drink and hope she would invite him to sit down. He was about to face a virtual eternity of solitude. He thought somehow that an evening in her company would make that reality easier to bear.

But now her eyes searched for something out in the distance while he was all but ignored. The Doctor got the attention of a waiter named Julien and placed his order. He would try small talk just to break the silence until the meal arrived, and if she did not desire to talk to him, he would respect that.

"So, what brings you to Paris?" he asked the raven-haired woman. She kept her head turned toward the street, so the Doctor fixed his gaze on her profile. "Business or personal reasons?"

"Both I suppose," she said, not divulging more. Both her voice and her accent wavered.

The Doctor nodded, though he doubted she saw his nonverbal response.

"Paris is a good city for both pursuits," the Doctor said. It was a stupid remark. He hated small talk.

The woman nodded, then looked down at her watch. The Doctor got a sense that, like him, she was carrying a burden that caused her great pain.

"Are you travelling alone?" he asked her. Maybe she was lonely. _He_ sure was. There wasn't a voice in his mind, and the silence was hard to bear.

"For now," she said. It seemed to the Doctor that it took considerable effort for her to keep her voice light. She turned her chair forward, but did not look directly at him. She sat without speaking or barely moving for fifty-eight seconds. Then she raised her head to look at him. "How about you?" she asked with a measure of forced cheerfulness. "What brings _you_ to Paris?"

The Doctor debated how to answer. To say that his ship had brought him here against his will would make him appear rather unstable. (Then, again, maybe he _was_ unstable.) He was also beginning to wonder if there was something else—something from his past or his future—that had drawn his Tardis to this particular place and time. The Doctor settled on "Just passing through," and hoped she wouldn't press for more information.

"Yeah me too," she said with a smile that seemed genuine. Her Received Pronunciation accent was conspicuously missing. "I'm sort of jumping from place to place myself." She smiled again, and this time it even seemed as if it were the start of a laugh. Whoever this dark haired young woman was, and wherever she had come from, she appeared to be less formal and proper than the image she was trying so hard to present. He wondered what caused her to put on an act, because it was the substance beyond the surface—that honest voice that mentioned that he had been overcharged and admonished him to be more careful—that had intrigued him.

The Doctor wanted to say more and keep the conversation going. Not only did it keep his mind off the destruction that plagued him, he also believed that she needed the company as badly as she did. However, he was at a loss for what to talk about. Even for the sake of his peace or to see the woman smile again, he could not bring himself to comment on the weather or even remark on the beauty of their surroundings. So he waited for his food to arrive, and found himself watching the parade of pedestrians beyond the terrace.

Finally, the waiter came carrying two plates. Since both dishes had been prepared to be ready at the same time, the waiter must have assumed that he and the young woman were a party of two that had intended to dine together rather than two strangers sharing a table. That was fine with him. However, the Doctor still didn't enjoy small talk and Julien the waiter seemed intent on engaging in it.

"Where are the two of you from?" the waiter asked in French.

The young woman furrowed her brow and leaned forward as if these actions would help her understand what Julien had said. It was clear to the Doctor that she spoke little French.

"I'm pretty far from home," the Doctor said in French. "But I have been traveling for so long that there's really no place I call home." He hoped that was enough of an answer, because he didn't think he could manage to say more. He noticed that the woman's smile had faded after he spoke. He wasn't sure how much she understood, but she must have detected some of the darker sentiment hiding behind his words.

"_Je suis de l'Angleterre_," she told Julien. So she _did_ know some French. She probably learned it in an elite public school but forgot most of it after exams.

"How long will the two of you be on holiday?" Julien asked in French, looking from the Doctor to the young woman.

"I cannot speak for the _mademoiselle_, but I'm just passing through," the Doctor told him in French.

The young woman looked confused and shrugged, flashing the waiter an apologetic smile.

"I asked how long you and your companion were on holiday," Julien said in heavily-accented English.

"Oh," said the woman, as her cheeks turned pink. "He's not my…" she began, clearly agitated. "I mean, I'm not his com—" The woman sighed and tried again. "We didn't come to Paris together."

A bright smile spread across Julien's face and his eyes twinkled. "Then the legend holds true."

"What legend?" she asked.

"There is a legend that if you sit long enough at one of the tables on the _Terasse_, you are destined to encounter someone that you know," Julien said. "_Café de La Paix_ is where old friends reunite."

The young woman's mouth dropped open, and she shifted her gaze from the waiter to the Doctor. She seemed amazed at the waiter's claim.

The Doctor chuckled. "Running into a stranger twice in a day may not quite count as validation of the legend," he said. "Still, it _is_ quite the coincidence."

"Perhaps a wine to celebrate the chance encounter," Julien said in French, turning his attention to the Doctor. The waiter opened the wine menu and suggested a few of the more expensive bottles.

The Doctor answered him in French, "I am afraid our meal does not hold that much meaning. We are simply sharing a table." He looked at the prices and shook his head. "For that reason," he said, "_Deux cent_ _cinquante Euros est trop à passer._" Two hundred and fifty Euros was too much to spend, and he did not want to mislead the young lady, whose company he was glad to keep for the evening.

"Pardon me for correcting you," said the waiter in English. "But I believe you mean to say '_Deux cent_ _cinquante __Euros est trop à _dépenser_._' '_Passer_' is used to spend time, not money." Julien stood the wine list on the table between the Doctor and the young woman. "I will leave the list for your convenience," he said in English. Then he made a slight bow and left the pair to enjoy their dinner.

"Did he just correct your French?" asked the woman with a small laugh as she watched the waiter walk away.

The Doctor nodded and chuckled. "It's not a proper visit to Paris until you use the wrong verbs once or twice."

"Better you than me," she answered back. There was a twinkle in her eye that the Doctor hoped would remain for the rest of the meal.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** The legend that you will meet a friend or acquaintance at Café de La Paix is well known, and has made it into reviews and even people's travel blogs. It makes me want to go to Paris and see who I meet.

The verbs the Doctor confuses are some of the top verbs confused by non-native speakers, at least according to what I researched. I used more than one site to translate the sentence, so blame the translation-bots if it is not correct. It is a bit farfetched that the Doctor would make such a simple mistake, but it was on my list of things that had to happen. We can pretend it was because he was mesmerized by the beautiful stranger at his table. :)

**Purple Guest:** Yep, the song referenced in the title was not an accident. And I suppose it is the Doctor's first date with her. Of course they could argue later about what constitutes a date. They aren't really good at defining things like that, though.

Also, lets make a deal that I post every other day FOR SURE, with daily postings being a bonus. Shirking other important duties to write fanfiction is apparently frowned upon.


	8. Chapter 8

**As Time Goes By – Chapter 8**

**Notes: **My apologies about the delay. But that is why my posting schedule is an estimate, not a promise you can take to the bank. The promise you CAN rely on is that only serious personal trauma will keep me from completing a story I start.

Anyway. The next chapter is here. And hopfully the longer chapter (3,907 words) will make up for the wait. It was one continuous scene.

* * *

It's not that beef bourguignon was more appealing than the beef tartare that Rose had ordered; it was the fact that it was being eaten by a man that Rose had lost twice that had caused her to shift her attention to his plate. So it was no wonder that her meal was slightly neglected each time the man in front of her looked down to cut another piece of beef or pick up a piece of potato. It was surreal. He was right there: living, breathing, eating, and grinning like it was just another adventure. Except that he had no idea who she was. She wanted make use of the time she had with him before she would be pulled away from him and back into the parallel world, but she had to do it without creating some sort of paradox. The memory of the reapers which almost destroyed the world because of the last paradox she was responsible for caused her to shiver.

"Cold?" asked the Doctor, noticing her involuntary tremble.

Rose shook her head. "Just a passing chill."

The Doctor nodded and turned his attention back to his meal. The lack of conversation was beginning to frustrate Rose. Words were traded back and forth, but it felt more like a shallow question and answer session. Normally, Rose could converse easily with strangers and old friends alike, but the Doctor was both these things and more. And that fact made the choice of topics a bit more difficult. Rose limited her statements to the opera house, how well their food was prepared, the pleasantness of the evening, and other topics of insignificance. She had been doing most of the talking while the Doctor provided short responses without making an effort to extend the topic. And why would he? This incarnation was not the chatty one who had a tendency to over-share. This was the incarnation that spoke with fewer, more carefully chosen words. (That is, unless he lost his temper.) He was also the incarnation that frequently expressed an extreme distaste for domestics. Though that was less true as time went by—especially after he regenerated—the man sitting before her was the first Doctor she knew at some point before they had ever met. Therefore it was no wonder that discussions about the Terrace Menu versus the Restaurant Menu or the appeal of outdoor dining elicited very little response. She considered asking him the typical questions such as "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?" but he would likely ask the same questions of her, and she wouldn't be able to answer. It also seemed dishonest since she knew the answers. So after the Doctor made no response whatsoever to her observation that the evening's patrons appeared to prefer red wine over white, she decided to ask him questions to which she did not know the answer. She would just do her best not to provide any information that would reveal that she was a future companion.

"So," she said as she speared a narrow French fry with her fork (it was much more difficult to do than it was with British style chips, but it seemed wrong to use her fingers), "What made you decide to buy a watch today?" Rose knew the watch the Doctor had bought was the same one he wore when they travelled together before he regenerated, but he had consulted it for information that a normal watch did not provide. She had assumed it was a Time Lord watch, but it seemed, instead, that it was a simple human watch enhanced by "jiggery-pokery" the way her mobile "superphone" had been.

"Mine broke," said the Doctor matter-of-factly. Then he took a sip of wine and stared at a point somewhere behind her.

_Great, _Rose thought._ Another dead-end question._ She was doomed to waste this fleeting moment with her old Doctor stuck on the worst first date of her life. Not that it was officially a date, she reminded herself, they were just dining at the same table. Still, it was painful enduring such awkwardness when she remembered how comfortable and easy it used to be to talk to him. They had gotten along better than this within the first twenty-four hours after she had met him. It seemed the current Doctor had more walls of protection around himself than did the Doctor she would meet sometime further along in his timeline.

"It was really old," the Doctor said after a few moments of silence. Rose had almost forgotten what they had been talking about, and the confusion must have shown on her face. "The watch," he said to clarify. "The one that broke."

Rose nodded and her eyes drifted briefly to the rectangular watch with the black leather band. It used to (or, rather, would one day) match perfectly with the black leather jacket the Doctor wore, but the one he was wearing now was more of a brown color and had seen a lot more abuse than the jacket Rose remembered.

The Doctor followed the direction of her gaze and looked at his wrist. "It was a fob watch," he said as he rubbed his thumb over the glass face of his current watch. "It was made of gold, and its cover was inscribed with beautiful writing." The Doctor lifted his head up and his eyes focused on a point in the darkening sky somewhere to Rose's left. She wondered if he was looking in the direction that Gallifrey should have been. "It was given to me when I was eight years old. A symbol of the legacy that I was meant to carry on." The Doctor paused and took a deep breath. "Now it's gone."

Though a true stranger might only have recognized a feeling of nostalgic melancholy in the Doctor's words, Rose was aware that his pain went much deeper. She knew he was talking about more than the watch, and that knowledge threatened to unmask her own tribulation and grief. Rose also took a deep breath and concentrated on her assumed accent in order to keep her voice even. "I'm sorry," she said. She looked down at her plate and pushed her food around with her fork and knife just to have something to do. "It's difficult to let go of something precious to you, even if the replacement is equally brilliant." She wasn't talking about watches either. "Sometimes—" Her voice cracked. She took another breath and tried again to speak, abandoning her attempts to hide her emotion or manner of speech. "Sometimes it's hard to let go of something so..." Rose looked up and found herself staring directly into the Doctor's icy blue eyes "...so fantastic."

The Doctor held her gaze for what seemed like many lifetimes, and it took all the strength she had not to dissolve into tears and tell him who she really was. She had been wishing for a meaningful conversation, but now that she had it, the heartache that she had tried to lock deep within her after so many devastating jumps had risen to the surface and was threatening to overtake her.

Rose could see in her mind's eye the Doctor reclining casually on the Tardis jump seat as she asked to see her father—the real one from this world—before he died. Though Rose had gotten defensive when he asked her why she had made the request, he had been right to be concerned about her. And though he probably shouldn't have, he had done as she asked.

"Your wish is my command," the Doctor had said. "But be careful what you wish for." His silly grin disguised the foreboding he must have felt.

Now those words rang in her ears. "Be careful what you wish for." She should have been content to endure the discomfort of mindless chatter, finished her meal more quickly, and made an excuse to leave. But because she longed for just one more moment with him—just like she longed for that one moment with her father—she gave into the impulse to go beyond what was safe.

"I destroyed it," the Doctor said after a moment, interrupting Rose's thoughts.

Rose didn't know how to respond. She knew about the terrible decision the Doctor had been forced to make in order to end the Time War, but the Doctor would not be aware of that fact. Rose guessed he was still using double meanings, so she waited for him to elaborate.

"I threw it against a wall and it broke into several pieces," he said with a sheepish smile. "Seems I have a bit of a temper."

Rose couldn't help but smile in return. She had witnessed his temper many times and had even been on the receiving end of it. Who would have thought that one day she would miss hearing him rant about humans and calling them "stupid apes"?

"At least you were thorough," Rose joked. "With the old watch completely destroyed, you had an excuse to get a brand new one." She paused and looked at the watch on his wrist. "Well," she said drawing out the word and sounding a bit like the Doctor's next incarnation. "An antique one actually. But new to you anyway. At least it saves you the trouble of making repairs." Rose realized she wasn't supposed to know he could do any such thing and hastily amended her statement. "That is, you don't have to bother getting repairs done." She took a bite of her food to prevent from saying anything else suspicious. Stupid ape indeed!

The Doctor, however, didn't seem to notice and nodded thoughtfully. "I might still repair it one day," he said, "but not now." He turned his attention to cutting a piece of beef as he spoke. "I just changed my image, and it seemed like the right time for a new watch."

Rose, who had just put her wine glass to her lips and taken a sip, sputtered and coughed as an involuntary laugh caused her to inhale a portion of her drink. The Doctor looked at her with a mix of bewilderment and concern.

"I'm fine," she said after she took a few breaths and cleared her throat.

However, the Doctor was still frowning in confusion. How was Rose going to explain what caused her to laugh? His reference to regeneration was supposed to go over her head. But the Doctor chuckled and his lips spread into a toothy grin. "Right," he said with a nod. "The pun."

Rose panicked for a second. He seemed fine with the fact that she understood his reference. But was he going to ask why? How would she tell him who she was without causing the universe to implode?

"Didn't even mean to say it," he said, his face still jovial. " 'Right time for a new watch.' Made that same joke earlier, actually." The Doctor looked upward as he took a bite of a potato. "Maybe I'm a comedian." He took another bite and shook his head. "No. Doesn't seem right. But at least I have a sense of humor."

Rose wondered if the Doctor knew how mental he would have sounded to the average human. If he did, he didn't let on, and Rose decided to carry on as if she was oblivious to anything that made him seem different. She just finished the last bit of her meal and nodded as he spoke.

"Seems _you_ don't need the excuse of a broken watch to buy a new one," the Doctor said with a nod toward Rose's watches. Rose set her fork and knife across the right side of her empty plate. Then, in response to the Doctor's statement, lifted her wrist and glanced at both timepieces. It was five minutes until nine. She had a little over three hours before she would be forced back into her parallel world.

"Both watches tell the same time," the Doctor observed.

"Of course they do," she said. "Otherwise I might forget which was right."

"Then why do you have two?" he asked. He set his own utensils on his plate and crossed his arms in front of his chest as if he had won some debate that Rose was not aware they were having.

What answer could Rose give him? The truth was obviously out of the question, but she didn't feel like lying to him either. After a second of thought, she settled on an extremely vague version of the truth. "They were given to me by my friends, and I like them for different reasons," Rose answered with a shrug. She hoped the answer would suffice. Apparently it wouldn't. The Doctor maintained his posture and waited for her to continue.

"Um...this one," she said, pointing to the second watch on her wrist, "has a larger watch face and is easier to read, especially at night." It was glowing a bright shade of cerulean, and had been all night. Rose had asked for Tardis blue originally, but the darker shade made the numbers harder to read. And since she did have the tendency to use that watch more than the other for actual timekeeping, she opted for a brighter hue. Plus, it was easy to miss the change from amber to blue when she had used the more subdued shade. At least she wouldn't have to explain to the Doctor why it changed colors. There had been a few instances in which a person had been standing near her when the glow of the watch had changed. She had explained it away by telling them the watch functioned much like a mood ring. But as long as the Doctor was around and in possession of his sonic screwdriver, the glow would remain blue.

The Doctor nodded in approval but his posture remained unchanged. She would have to explain the other watch to him as well. Rose realized that she should have expected him to express an interest in her watches; he _was_ a Time Lord, after all.

"This one flips open," she told him. Then she pushed the button that caused the face to open and reveal the hidden face underneath. She leaned over the table slightly and extended her arm so that he could see the second face more clearly. He took her wrist gently to steady it as he examined the watch, and Rose felt her heart rate speed up. And since the Doctor's hand was right near a pulse point, she was sure he felt it too. She felt her cheeks flush and she hoped he was too interested in the watch to notice.

Rose did the "concentrate on acting posh" trick to regain her composure then explained the timepiece she was wearing. "The second face is a timer of sorts. It's a visual way to keep track of elapsed time," she said. "The hand passes different colors as time goes by. When it reaches mauve, whatever I am counting down to is almost complete."

The Doctor nodded again, but did not release her wrist. He frowned for a minute then asked, "Why mauve?"

Bugger. She would never learn, would she? It was the Doctor who had told her that mauve was the universally recognized color for danger. The concept of a red warning was only for humans.

She shrugged. "That's just the way the designer made it." She did not disclose the fact that she had been involved in designing that watch face.

"Must've come from far away," he said letting go of her wrist.

"Anyway," she said as she pulled her arm back, eager to get his attention away from the alien-inspired color coding. "It's currently set to keep track of how much time I have left in Paris. According to the watch, I have three hours. I have to leave just past midnight."

"Like Cinderella," he commented.

Rose pondered this. Maybe from his perspective she was the beautiful stranger who would run off hastily, but he had the wrong fairy tale. Since her mission had begun, the Torchwood team had noticed that every version of the Tardis seemed to recognise Rose, even in parallel universes. It was this connection that allowed her to hear full or partial translations of non-English languages, even if she had not stepped foot in that particular Tardis. The team called this the "Bad Wolf Factor," and applied this knowledge to the algorithm used to help locate the Doctor. And from this, the mission was named. If she was the Big Bad Wolf, then it was Little Red Riding Hood whom she was pursuing. Thus the mission became known as Operation Riding Hood. And in a sense of irony that could only be explained by too many nights of working until dawn, Rose was given the code name of "Red."

"I'm not really the Cinderella type," she with a laugh. Though she had a rags-to riches story in some ways, she doubted she would ever be fully accustomed to upper-class life.

"Used to having maids rather than being one?" asked the Doctor, misunderstanding which part of the fairy tale Rose did not identify with.

Rose was not sure why, but she was slightly offended. She should have been glad that she did not readily appear as a girl from the estates and had managed to pull off a more sophisticated persona (that was her cover after all), but since that wasn't who she really was, it hurt that the Doctor would think of her that way.

"I'll have you know," Rose said in her original working-class London accent, with all the attitude that came along with it, "that I have worked in a dress shop, been a server in a large mansion, and spent some time as a dinner lady in a school cafeteria." She would have added, "so there," but it sounded a bit immature.

"I knew it!" the Doctor exclaimed happily, as if he had just won a wager in pub. He almost jumped out of his chair in his giddiness. "Your unsteady accent gave it away."

"Knew what?" asked Rose, feeling a bit nervous.

"You're caught between two different worlds," he said as he pointed his index finger at her and shook it slowly. "And you've been trying to hide that fact all evening long."

Rose swallowed hard and concentrated on breathing. It was a good thing she had not been in the midst of taking a drink during that statement, or she was sure she would have completely choked that time. How could he determine that from her _accent_, and how much did he actually know? She would have no choice but to tell him everything now, but first she needed to be certain what it was that he knew.

"You seem pretty confident of this," she said coyly, attempting to recover her posh accent. (Though she was now so confused over pronunciation, that she had no idea how she sounded.) "Tell me about these 'worlds' you believe I'm trapped between and I promise to tell you if you're correct."

"You have all the money you need and can play the part of an aristocrat," he said. He picked up her pink hat which had been sitting at the edge of the table as if to use it as evidence of her upper-class lifestyle. "But you comment on the finery around you with an appreciation that shows that it is still new to you. And your accent is inconsistent. One moment you speak with the Queen's English, the next you are just a few dropped H's away from a thick cockney."

Rose opened her mouth to defend her cover, but thought better of it. As long as the "two worlds" the Doctor thought she straddled had nothing to do with parallel universes, it was best not to argue.

"If I had to guess," continued the Doctor, shifting his gaze from the hat to the double watches on her wrist and back again, "I'd say you were raised in poverty in south London, but managed to climb the social ladder through some mixture of giftedness and determination." He smiled smugly at his statement and crossed his arms across his chest waiting for her reaction.

Though some of the details were wrong, Rose was still amazed at the Doctor's conclusion. However, his ego needed knocking down a few pegs.

"You think you're so impressive," she teased.

"I _am_ so impressive," he said, sounding a bit offended.

"Think yourself to be a regular Henry Higgins then, do you?" she said in mock annoyance. _My Fair Lady_ was another film she had seen with her father, but she instantly regretted making the comparison. In the film, an older professor gives a young woman elocution lessons and exposes her to a world beyond her life of poverty. The two fall in love, though it is never said outright. Some of that was uncomfortably too familiar to Rose.

The Doctor, who was oblivious to his future with his tablemate, beamed at the comparison. "Maybe I am just like him."

"Well, Professor," said Rose. "You got the basics right, but I'm not exactly Eliza Doolittle."

"Professor..." the Doctor repeated thoughtfully. "I once had a friend who called me that. But actually, I'm the Doctor," he extended his hand across the table in formal introduction, though they had been dining together for an hour and a half.

"Nice to meet you Doctor" Rose said as she took his hand to shake it.

The Doctor waited a moment, but when she did not offer an introduction in return, he let go of her hand and rested his on the table. "I believe in most places it is customary to introduce oneself in return," he said to her.

"Right," said Rose. She played with the ends of her hair as she tried to come up with something to tell him. It would be easier if she felt comfortable lying to him, but that was something she seemed unable to do. Finally, she sighed and extended her hand again. "You can call me Red," she told him.

"But that's not your name, is it?" the Doctor said as he shook her hand for the second time.

"No," she admitted. "But 'Doctor' isn't exactly a name either."

"Fair point," the Doctor said. "At any rate, it's nice to meet you, Red the Enigmatic."

"Likewise," she answered back. It took a while, but things finally felt the way she had remembered them. Maybe if she was careful, she could have three more hours of this without seriously damaging anyone's timeline.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I recommend watching some of the movies off AFI's Greatest Films of All Time list. There is another with the 25 greatest movie musicals. And the British Film Institute has a similar list. You will be glad you did!

* * *

**Purple Guest: **Yes, the legend is a good one. Since I had chose Café de la Paix before really reading it, I am glad for the storytelling bonus. And I agree Rose needs to use her time to her advantage. And maybe it will help the Doctor as well...


	9. Chapter 9

**As Time Goes By – Chapter 9**

"So," said the Doctor. He looked into the green eyes of the young woman with soft pink skin and jet black hair as if trying to solve a puzzle. "You don't strike me as a _Red_."

"I know," answered the woman who called herself Red, "Seems I should be ginger, doesn't it?" She grabbed a portion of her hair and held it in front of her eyes to examine it. "Nope," she said with a shrug, "still black."

The Doctor ran his hand over the short cropped hair on the top of his head. He didn't even know the color of his _own_ hair. He must certainly have walked past something reflective since his regeneration. Why hadn't he thought to stop a moment and take in his new appearance? He frowned at this thought and made a mental note to go straight to the wardrobe once he got back to the Tardis.

"Might be fun to be ginger," she said. "I had a friend who'd wished he was. But dark hair's fine, I guess." She looked up at the top of his head. "Looks good on _you_, anyway."

That answered one question. But the Doctor was more interested in learning about Red than he was in discovering who _he_ was. He knew he was the Doctor and that he had a past for which he needed to make restitution. That was enough. He would rather learn more about this intriguing human girl, including the reason behind her colourful pseudonym, than dwell on himself.

Maybe _Red_ was a diminutive name. He knew it was fairly common for humans to shorten names, such as using _Will_ for _William_ or _Bess_ for _Elizabeth_. The Doctor even had companions who did this. He once had a companion named Perpugilliam who preferred to be called Peri. Perhaps Red also had an unusual name and preferred something simpler. Though the Doctor knew that Red was reluctant to share her given name, curiosity got the better of him, therefore he rationalized that discovering the nature of her nickname was entirely different than asking her to tell him her real name. "So is _Red_ short for something longer, like _Redell_ or _Vered_?" he asked her.

Red furrowed her brow and scrunched up her nose in a show of disgust. (It was actually sort of cute, and was a refreshing change from her earlier attempts to act posh and proper.) "Are you serious?" she asked.

"I was actually," the Doctor answered. He tried to sound offended but he couldn't hide the amusement in his voice.

"No," Red said with a laugh. "_Red_ isn't short for anything. Although," she said with a shake of her head, "if either of those _were_ my name, I would definitely shorten it somehow."

"I hope there are no Redells or Vereds within earshot," the Doctor said. He raised his eyebrows and looked around at the other diners as if he was worried they had overheard. "They would be highly offended at your opinion of their name."

"Do any Redells or Vereds exist at all?" Red asked. "I've never heard either one of those names."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't have" the Doctor said as he frowned in thought. "Those names aren't common in this era—especially in Europe."

"And yet you thought one of them might be my name." She rolled her eyes in amusement, and the right side of her mouth turned up in a smile.

"No," he said with a chuckle. "Those were just the first examples that came to mind."

"Then you need to meet some people with normal names," she said, pointing at him. "What do those names even mean?"

The Doctor didn't know if the question was rhetorical or not, but he found himself answering anyway. "_R__edell_ is Germanic in origin and can mean, among other things, 'Wolf Counsel'. _Vered_ is of Hebrew origin and means 'Rose.' "

"You're joking," she said with a look of shock that made no sense to the Doctor within the context of their conversation. .

"Why would I joke about that?" he asked bewildered.

"Never mind," she said. All traces of mirth had vanished from her face. She shook her head slightly as she turned and looked out at the people walking by. "Long story."

The Doctor wondered what he said that had caused her mood to change, and he feared that Red would shut down the conversation. For some reason this made the Doctor feel anxious. He needed the young human woman to keep talking to him.

"Sometimes," the Doctor said, fishing desperately for something else to say, "nicknames are derived from the meaning of the original name. You wouldn't perchance be a Scarlett, or a Ruby, or a Ro—"

"If I had wanted you to know my real name," Red said interrupting him with an authoritative voice, "I would have told you straight away." She didn't seem angry, but it was very clear that he was not to ask any more questions about her name.

The Doctor opened his mouth to apologise, but the coolness in her demeanor had left as quickly as it had come. "But really," she said, picking up the cloth napkin in her lap, and folding it like a simple fan. "Do I seem like a Scarlett?" She picked up her folded napkin and pretended to fan herself. "Fiddle-dee-dee," she said in a terrible Southern Belle accent. Then in a breathy, melodramatic fashion, she declared, "Tomorrow is another day!" After her mock performance, she laughed self consciously and hid her eyes with the hand that held the napkin.

The Doctor smirked. First _My Fair Lady_, now Scarlett O'Hara from _Gone With the Wind_. (And he could have been mistaken, but he thought he heard her mention a line from _Casablanca_ when he had first approached her table.) Red seemed to have an affinity for classic films.

Red put down her napkin and looked straight at the Doctor. "It's a nickname the friends I work with started calling me," she told him. "It was kind of a joke at first: something opposite me, like when you call the big tough bloke _Tiny_. I'm not even certain I like it." She looked down at her watches, which must have been given to her by the same friends who gave her the nickname, and shook her head.

"Names are funny though—aren't they Doctor?" The familiarity with which Red said his own name (or rather, his title) made it seem as if they had known each other for years rather than a few hours. "They're one of the most personal things about us, but we don't even choose them ourselves." Red took a sip of wine then stared at her mostly-empty glass for a moment before continuing. "It's like—" she frowned, still looking at the contents of her glass, then started again. "We're so protective of our names. They have to be pronounced right and spelled right or we get upset. My friend Shir—well, this friend of mine would get so angry when her name was spelled wrong. But it's not like she picked the name and spelling," Red said. "Her mum and dad did that. But she protected it like it was all her doing. And most of us do that, you know?"

Despite the fact that a smile remained on her face, the Doctor could detect sorrow behind her words, and he wished he knew the reason. He couldn't imagine that there was anyone in the universe that carried a grief and a burden as great as his, but for some reason, he suspected that this beautiful stranger came close.

Red drew circles with her finger on the table cloth as she continued talking. "We don't pick our name, but it somehow becomes who we are. It matters to us when someone takes the time to learn and remember our name. But what if—"Red lifted her head, and the Doctor could see that her eyes were full tears. "What if you had to stop using your name? It's just a word, right? You could even choose a new one you like much better." She looked up with a wistful smile. The Doctor searched for something to say, but Red continued before he could. "But by then the name _is_ you. Can you really go forward without it and still be...you?"

The Doctor had no idea why this ordinary young woman would have to hide her identity, but it pained him that it made her feel so lost. The Doctor was at a loss for words, so he decided to borrow from a wordsmith more skilled than himself in an attempt to comfort her. If Red enjoyed classic movies, perhaps she also appreciated classic literature. "Red," said the Doctor. He reached forward with his right hand and took hers. "Are you familiar with Romeo and Juliette?"

Red nodded her head, but directed her eyes toward their joined hands rather than the Doctor's face. "In the balcony scene, Juliette is pondering something similar: Would Romeo be the same person without the name of Montague?" he said. "It's a difficult question. There is no scale to measure how much a name defines a person." The Doctor placed his free had over hers. "Yes, names can be important. I choose to be called _Doctor_ for a reason. I even rejected it for a time when I felt I didn't deserve it." The Doctor felt guilt and pain wash over him once again, but he pushed it aside to focus on the needs of the young woman before him, "I don't know your story, but if there's a reason for setting aside your given name, that doesn't mean you're lost too." He bent his head down to her level and waited until she made eye contact. "Maybe Shakespeare's words through Juliette can bring comfort: 'that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' "

The Doctor's words had an instant effect, but it was opposite from the one he had hoped for. The woman who had introduced herself as Red inhaled sharply, pulled her hand away from his, covered her face, and began to cry. The Time Lord felt powerless as he watched her weep. He still didn't deserve the name of Doctor. He couldn't fix things—he just made them worse.

The Doctor kicked the heavy iron leg of the table in frustration and anger, knocking over his glass and spilling wine onto the table, which over the edge and onto the leg of his trousers. The commotion jolted Red from her lament, and she sprung into action, using her napkin to sop up the rest of the wine before it did any more damage. The Doctor used his own napkin to minimize the damage to his clothes. Then Red waved Julien the waiter over to take away the plates and wine-soaked napkins. When that was done, the waiter returned with a dessert menu. The Doctor shook his head, hoping Julien would understand that Red needed some space to regain her composure, but she surprised him by quickly ordering two items off the menu. She then took a cosmetics case and a disposable cloth out of a bag that had been hanging on her chair. In seconds she had cleaned up the running mascara and had regained the sophisticated look and almost flawless appearance that she had possessed when the evening had begun.

The Doctor stared at the woman in amazement. She'd be good in a crisis. She also seemed to be used to traveling and prepared for anything. For just one moment, he wondered if she would consider traveling with him. But he couldn't ask her. He had a purpose beyond running and exploring now, and it would be dangerous. He could not risk her safety, or anyone else's for that matter.

"There's nothing better than pudding when you're upset," Red said to the Doctor after Julien came back with the desserts she had ordered. The Doctor would have been happy with either of the selections, but was secretly glad when she let him have the chocolate banana crisp and kept the more traditional crème brulee for herself. "I went through a really hard time a few years ago," Red told the Doctor as she tapped the caramelized top of her crème brulee. "For several months, I pretty much lived on Ben and Jerry's Cheesecake Brownie ice cream."

The Doctor noticed the same sad smile he had seen earlier. Even a story about ice cream couldn't mask the fact that she had spent months in a state of depression. There was nothing of value he could say in response to that knowledge, but he could continue to listen.

"I'm sorry for I how reacted when you tried to help," Red said, twirling her spoon around in her ramekin. "I guess I just..." Red's voice trailed off, and she absentmindedly moved her spoon in circles. She remained silent for while, stirring the crème brulee but not eating it. When she looked up, her eyes were again misty with tears. "I had this friend," she said. "When he'd say my name—just my first name—he could fit a full sentence of meaning into that one little word. And it was when he said my name that I could most easily read his feelings: anger, grief, joy..." she said. She looked at the Doctor and said with a sad laugh, "even a bit of arrogance." She held her spoon upright in her bowl and twirled it. "Time went by and things changed...well, _he_ changed," she said. "He started saying my first name and surname together, and it sounded like a poem every time—like he appreciated every syllable." She stopped talking, and sat motionless, still holding the spoon upright. Though she was looking directly at the Doctor, her faraway expression told him that her thoughts were somewhere far beyond a Paris café. "Then there was this accident," she said in almost a whisper. She let go of the spoon and it clinked as gravity made it fall and hit the edge of the ramekin. "We got separated. The last thing I ever heard him say was my name."

Tears fell silently from the eyes of the woman whose name the Doctor was not privileged enough to know. She did not break down again or even turn her head away. She just dabbed her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. And though she kept her eyes forward, the Doctor doubted she was really looking at him. She was thinking of a man so much better than the one in front of her. The Doctor was struck with an unexpected twinge of jealousy. Any man that could pour so much meaning into her name must have really loved her, and it was clear that she had felt the same. "You loved him," he said.

"Yes," she said, her focus returning to her present surroundings. She looked directly into the Doctor's eyes as fresh tears began to fall. "I still do."

* * *

**Author's Note:** The opinions of the names Redell and Vered expressed by Rose Tyler are hers alone and do not necessarily reflect the view of the Author or other characters.

I'm a bit bothered (bovvered?) that a funny Comic Relief sketch with Catherine Tate and David Tennant will now always come to my mind when "A rose by any other name" is quoted. I used it anyway even though others might also recall the sketch because the quote is still a good one. The sketch is good too, and I recommend it. It is even funnier if you watch a few of Catherine Tate's other skits involving Lauren Cooper first.

* * *

**Purple Guest:** Thanks again for the review. Yes that dinner was nerve wracking and heartbreaking and getting more so. The Doctor is clever about puzzles, I can't imagine him NOT trying to solve a mystery. (As you can see in this chapter, he doesn't stop.) And LOL about the shoes. I am now on a quest to find the DVD and watch _My Fair Lady_ again rather than the snippets I found on YouTube as a refresher.

**Linda Who:** Thanks for the review. I am glad the emotion is coming through well. And don't worry about what you don't know, by the time you read through this and my other stories, you will be an expert on the Ninth Doctor!


	10. Chapter 10

**As Time Goes By – Chapter 10**

Rose held her gaze for several seconds. And for some reason, the Doctor kept his eyes fixed on hers as well. And though it was uncomfortable to look into those steel blue eyes and know that he did not understand the impact of her words, she was afraid to look away, as if by doing so he would disappear.

Eventually she did turn away and, not knowing where else to look, focused her attention on her neglected dessert. She picked up the spoon that had clattered and splashed when she had let go of it, and stirred her crème brulee as a torrent of thoughts and feelings overwhelmed her. This was not how she had expected the evening to progress. She wasn't sure what made her confide in the very person about whom she was talking, but when the Doctor said her name (though just part of a definition) it jarred her. Then he almost guessed it, and she could feel the armor she wore beginning to break. So when he looked in her eyes and, by quoting Shakespeare, said her name so tenderly, she had no strength to keep her composure.

Rose looked up just enough to see that the Doctor had finished over half of his chocolate banana crisp. She smiled slightly and wondered if he thought anything of her menu choice for him. Rose finally picked up a spoonful of custard and brought it to her mouth. In doing so, she lifted up her head and caught the Doctor looking upon her with concern.

She had seen that look before: right after she had held her father's hand as he died. And Rose realized that it wasn't hearing the Doctor say her name that had caused her to break down, it was the simple fact that he was there. He was wearing the wrong leather jacket and had a shirt and a waistcoat instead of a jumper, but he still had the same face. She had fallen in love with him when he had that face, but she hadn't realized it until it was too late. And it was that face and that man that she loved right then. All the other Doctors in the alternate universes that she had seen lying dead were just painful memories. The one she was searching for was just a shadow she could never seem to grasp. But this Doctor was real and right in front of her. He had just held her hand and looked at her with those haunting blue eyes that seemed both old and young at the same time. And he was the one to whom she had more or less just professed her love again. And he hadn't vanished after she had. If she could have been selfish and ignored the very reason she was there, if she could have preserved that moment forever, part of her knew she would have. The rest of her was too responsible to allow it, and reminded her that all of creation hung in the balance. But she only had a few hours left before the Dimension Cannon would yank her away—whether she wanted it to or not—and nothing was going to take that time away from her.

But what could she say now? Rose ate a few more bites of her crème brulee in silence as she thought. She had precious little time left. _If you knew you only had a few hours left with the one you loved,_ she pondered, _how would you spend them?_

Finally, she decided not to think about it. She would hide the most crucial details, but she was going to be herself. Time was going by far too quickly, and she did not want to waste it pretending to be someone else.

"Anyway," Rose said in her normal accent and ignoring the fact that several minutes had gone by since anyone had spoken. "That was a long time ago." She ate another spoonful of custard, not because she was hungry, but to distract herself from the emotions that had already taken a toll on her. "Now I've got this job that keeps me jumping from place to place. Gives me a purpose to go on, I suppose."

Rose frowned in reaction to her own words. _Barrel of laughs, you're turning out to be,_ Rose thought sarcastically. She decided it was best to steer the conversation toward something lighter.

"You said something about just passing through Paris," she said "Did you have any plans while you're here?" she asked. It sounded like small talk, but Rose was curious as to why the Doctor had picked that particular time and location. Not knowing what else to add she said, "Planning to watch the Tour de France?"

"When is that?" asked the Doctor, taking a forkful of his dessert, and showing no real interest in the answer.

"Right now," Rose told him. "There're banners and posters up all over. You're not telling me you _missed_ them all?"

"I'm afraid so," said the Doctor with a huge grin. God, she missed that grin. "Just arrived today and I was focused on getting a new watch. I didn't spend much time looking around."

"So what _is_ your reason for coming to Paris then?" Rose remembered the way danger and the Doctor had seemed to go hand in hand just as much as she and the Doctor had faced it hand in hand. And while some of it was unexpected, there were times that he deliberately sought it out. She remembered with nostalgic fondness chasing space debris that was mauve and dangerous and ending up in the middle of the London Blitz. It was one of her favorite adventures because it was the time when everyone lived and because it had brought Captain Jack Harkness into their lives. (She missed Jack almost as much as she missed the Doctor). Still, the danger had been very real. Maybe the Doctor was in Paris to chase something just as dangerous. For the first time since arriving in Paris, Rose thought about the possibility of an alien threat. She found herself scanning the environment for anything amiss, as if Autons or the Slitheen were going to come parading down the footpath at any moment.

"It's sort of where my vehicle ended up," said the Doctor in response to Rose's question. Anyone else might have assumed that the Doctor had ended up in Paris after an aimless drive, but Rose was fairly certain he was being literal. After Rose had learned that the Tardis was sentient, she found herself wondering how often their unexpected destination were the result of pilot error or external interference, and how often it was the deliberate defiance of the vehicle.

"So you're knocking about on your own then?" asked Rose. She started to take another spoonful of her crème brulee but realized she was no longer hungry. She set her spoon down and looked at the Doctor.

"Yep. Just me: party of one," he answered. He smiled, but Rose could detect a darkness behind the cheerful facade. He paused for a second, and tilted his head as he looked at Rose. "Well not for dinner," he added, "but for traveling anyway."

"How long have you been alone?" she asked, unable to keep the concern out of her voice. "Don't you get lonely or wish there was someone else to share the adventure with?" Rose had been jealous when she had first learned that many others had traveled in the Tardis before the Doctor had met her, but she soon learned not to compare herself to those who had gone before. It was good that he had not often been alone. And when Rose learned about the Doctor's friendship with his new companion, Donna, she was grateful that he had her. It was Donna's presence that had saved him when he defeated the Racnoss, and it was her absence in the altered timelines that caused Rose to repeatedly witness the Doctor's lifeless form on a stretcher. The Doctor needed someone with him.

"I've been traveling alone for quite some time now," the Doctor said. "I didn't always, but things changed. I had a dangerous task to accomplish, and I couldn't be distracted worrying about the safety of someone else."

Rose knew he must have been talking about the Time War. "But what about now?" she asked. "Seems that duty is over. There's no danger now—other than the occasional tipped wine glass," she added with a smile. "Why not find someone else with the same desire to travel?"

The Doctor studied her face for a moment then looked down. "I can't," he said.

"Why?" Rose asked.

"Because I am not just on holiday," the Doctor told her gruffly. He put his fork on his plate and pushed it to the side. "I have an objective. I am going to places where I can help others, and those locations will not likely be safe."

"But there have to be others who would want to do the same," Rose said. "You could do more good together." She didn't know why, but the fact that the Doctor was choosing to be companionless made her anxious. She knew it shouldn't matter; he eventually met her, and asked her come with him. Still, she felt compelled to convince him not to be alone.

"I've caused enough harm in my life," the Doctor told her. "If someone got hurt or worse because they chose to come along with me, I'd never forgive myself."

"But you'd be missing so much," Rose insisted. "As long as that person knew the risk, why not have them along?" She felt tears fill her eyes, and she did her best to will them into submission. "It's so much better when there is someone who has your back when there's danger and can laugh with you when it's over. There's a lot of things you need when you go on a journey, but what you need most is a hand to hold." It was no use, a few stray tears managed to escape.

The Doctor folded his arms across his chest, and his face was hard to read. Rose didn't know if he was pensive, doubtful, angry, or something else altogether. "You tell me I shouldn't travel alone, Red," he said. "But you sit across the table, as solitary as I am."

"I know but—"

"Why do you insist on something so strongly, yet not take your own advice?" he asked. His eyes bore into hers and she could detect the Oncoming Storm behind them. Rose did not feel threatened, but she perceived that the Doctor did. A perfect stranger who was supposed to have no knowledge of his life was challenging his decision and making him face how alone he really was. Rose had to turn the focus back to herself, no matter how much it hurt.

"It hasn't always been like this," she said. She looked up at the stars that were now visible in the sky. "I had a friend I used to travel with. We went everywhere together."

"The same friend you mentioned earlier?" the Doctor asked. His face and his tone had softened some, but he maintained his posture.

"Yes," she said. A few tears ran down her cheek, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "It wasn't always safe where we went, but I didn't care."

"But something happened," said the Doctor. "You said you got separated."

"We did something that involved a great risk, and we got pulled in separate directions," Rose said, careful not share any details. "I couldn't get back to him."

"That hard time you said went through," ventured the Doctor, "was that the reason?"

Rose nodded.

"If you had never taken that risk," said the Doctor, "or if you had never gone with him at all, you wouldn't have had to go through that pain."

"But what kind of life would that be, Doctor?" asked Rose. "A life with no risks wouldn't be worth living. And even knowing what I know now, I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

The Doctor leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His brow wrinkled, as if it took deep concentration to consider Rose's words. Rose sat motionless and did her best to blink back the tears.

"Why?" he finally said.

"Because some things are worth getting your heart broken for," Rose said. She smiled as she remembered when the Doctor's former companion, Sarah Jane, had told her the same thing. Rose concentrated her attention on the Doctor's face as a series of memories flashed in her mind. "The time we had together, the things we did, it was wonderful. If I had played it safe to miss the pain, I would have had to miss everything else too."

Rose could see doubt in the Doctor's eyes, and she searched for the words to explain. "What I went through," Rose said, "it made me stronger. The work I do now I can do because of the things I learned both from my time with him and from going on without him." Rose found a strength rise up within her that she had almost forgotten she had. Despite the tears she had cried, she was glad she took the risk and dined with the Doctor that night. "And even though I make trips by myself, I'm not really on my own," she told the Doctor. "I have a team of colleagues—friends—behind me that I will soon return to. And though I arrived alone, I've had the pleasure of your company all evening."

"The pleasure's been all mine," responded the Doctor. "Asking to share a table with a perfect stranger was a risk worth taking."

* * *

**Purple Guest:** Some of my favorite stories are the ones that make me cry.

And I'm not sure why, but I just thought that watching classic movies sounded like something that would be common enough for Rose's liking but also give her something "sophisticated" enough to talk about at posh parties. And it would be a good new father/new daughter activity. :)

**Linda Who: **Thanks for you review, I am glad you liked it and that Rose's emotion came through.


	11. Chapter 11

**As Time Goes By – Chapter 11**

Everything has its time, and everything ends, even dinners with beautiful, intriguing strangers. The Doctor knew this, but that didn't mean he had to like it. They had lingered over dessert and even ordered coffee. The Doctor, assuming that they both desired lighter conversation, had asked Red about her apparent fondness for classic films, and they spent the rest of their time on the terrace comparing their favorite films from all eras (up until 2008, that is), talking about the themes therein, and even playfully criticizing some of the choices the other would mention. Other than one brief moment when the Doctor mentioned the film _Ghostbusters _and Red had gone suddenly silent and her gaze had grown distant, the conversation had remained both pleasant and interesting. But they ran out of excuses to remain seated and finally agreed that another party should have use of their table. The Doctor requested the bill from Julien, and Red took it from the Doctor's hand with the intent of paying for the meal in its entirety. But the Doctor protested, insisting that he should pay since he had invaded on her solitude. They eventually agreed to pay for their own dinners, but the Doctor had insisted on paying for the wine while Red had insisted on paying for dessert.

Now they were standing outside the café taking in the sight of the opera house rather than looking at each other. The Doctor did not speak, content to stand in the presence of the mysterious young woman for a few moments longer and meditate on the evening that would soon be nothing more than a memory. He marvelled that neither one of them was keen to break the silence and that the awkwardness that would often accompany the lack of ongoing conversation was conspicuously missing. The Doctor worried that if he broke the spell, Red would remember whatever her original purpose was for the evening and they would have to part company. The Doctor was not ready for that. His future would be lonely. The more he thought of it, the more he didn't want to go. So he was willing to delay his destiny for as many seconds she was willing to give him.

The Doctor considered the woman at his left while she was busy marveling at the splendor of the ornate opera house. Red wasn't tall and glamorous (she was almost a head shorter than he was, and the Doctor guessed that he about six feet tall), but she had a unique style. Her black jeans and sturdy shoes spoke of a sense of practicality whereas her silk button-up top was evidence that she had some understanding of fashion. She had not been wearing the over shirt when he had first seen her in the watch shop, so Red must have chosen it specifically to fit in with her perceived dress code for the cafe. (He, on the other hand, was still in his war-weathered clothes.) Her fingers played with the edge of her pink hat as if she was tired of holding it but wasn't sure if it was appropriate to wear at night. The Doctor smiled at this. The posh facade that she had tried to present at the beginning had almost fully eroded away, and he found the genuine person beneath—even with mysteries remaining—to be much more appealing.

After forty-two seconds of quiet reflection, Red shifted her attention from the magnificent edifice before them to her countdown-watch, and opened it. The Doctor followed her gaze. The singular hand sat on the line between a yellow-colored segment and the final mauve-colored segment. The other watch she wore indicated with its azure glow that it was eight minutes after ten. The Doctor heard her sigh as she closed her watch.

_Now_ it was awkward. The Doctor cleared his throat then spoke. "So what is your plan now?" he asked, looking from the watch to the top of her head.

Red shrugged. "I dunno," she said. She turned her body slightly toward him and looked up, her eyebrows wrinkled in thought. "I guess I'll just keep doing my job and trying to make a difference."

The Doctor chuckled at her response.

"What?" she asked with a mix of defensiveness and confusion.

The Doctor smiled, unable to hide his amusement. "I didn't mean 'What is the plan for your life,' " he said with a single shake of his head. "I meant, 'What is the plan for the rest of your evening?' "

Red half-smiled and half-laughed, then glanced quickly back at her watches. "It's just after ten," she said. "I have two hours left."

"Left until what?" the Doctor asked. "Do you have a plane to catch?"

"Not a plane," she said, looking up at him. "But that's when my transport arrives, yeah."

"Where do you have to be?" asked the Doctor. Perhaps he could stretch the evening out a little bit further if he offered to walk her to her meeting point.

"Doesn't matter," she said. She tapped the watch that was glowing. "Comes with tracking: sort of like Satellite Navigation. My colleges will lock onto my location wherever I'm at."

"Your colleagues seem to give you high tech equipment," the Doctor said, gesturing with his chin toward her watches. He knitted his brow as he tried to piece together why the woman had an alias, advanced-for-the-era gadgets, and had a rendezvous point with her colleges secured by a tracking device. "What sort of job do you have, Red the Enigmatic?"

"A secret one," she said. Despite her words, her tone was playful.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "How secret?" he asked. "You sound like Double-O Seven."

Red laughed. It wasn't a chuckle, giggle, or embarrassed self conscious laugh. It was a real laugh of true amusement. The Doctor could not remember the last time he had heard such a beautiful sound. "I'm not a spy," she said. She shook her head a few times then looked up at him with a wide smile that displayed all of her teeth. Then her expression turned to one of mock seriousness and she raised one eyebrow. "Course, if I _was_ a spy I wouldn't be able to tell you, so..." she shrugged, then her smile and laugh returned. "Nah," she said. "I'm a civil servant. My department does a lot, but not spying."

"Her Majesty's Civil Service?" asked the Doctor, amazed.

Red's face scrunched in response. "Sort of," she said, replacing her _T_ with a glottal stop as more of her original accent came out. Though she was no longer putting on airs, she must have spent enough time among the upper crust to have it changed her speech and cause it to waver without a consistent pattern. "My department works mostly in personal relations," Red told him, in what sounded like the beginning of a rehearsed answer. "We aid displaced immigrants and help them acclimate to life in Great Britain. We help them find jobs; teach them the customs and laws—that sort of thing."

The Doctor looked at her doubtfully. "That doesn't explain the high tech toys."

"Yeah...Well... That's not all we do," Red said. She twisted the pin in her hat left and right repeatedly as she spoke. "We also help with public safety and foreign relations." Red took hold of the hat brim with her free hand so that she was holding the hat in front of her with both hands. She looked toward the street in front of her as she continued. "We work with some rather notable clients. Right now I'm assigned to locate a client who's no longer in England and request his help in an issue that threatens global security."

"Impressive," the Doctor said sincerely. He tried to recall a global security issue that occurred in 2008, but could think of nothing. Maybe Red and her colleagues had succeeded in finding the person they were looking for. Once again, the Doctor found himself reconsidering his plan to travel solo. Maybe Red was right, and he needed a hand to hold. Not that he'd ever been one for literally holding hands—he couldn't see himself doing_ that_—but metaphorically she might just have been right. And if he was going to have a companion, why not her? He knew what his reasons were for traveling alone, but if anyone could handle danger, he had a feeling she could. But he already had grown fond of her. Would he be able carry on if she died because she accepted his offer? Red insisted that what one gained through companionship was worth the loss, but he wasn't fully convinced.

He was a daft old fool; he was. Why was he even considering such a thing? His plan was good and sound. Humans always criticized the idea of building emotional walls—how one would become an isolated prisoner of their own making. But nobody ever stopped to consider that perhaps everybody was safer if those walls stayed up. It had been less than an Earth day since his regeneration, and already he knew that he was volatile and unstable—yelling one minute and grinning like a loon the next. He had a temper that just needed the right trigger. And if it were to be pulled he feared everyone, companions included, would be subject to his wrath. He would help. He would live up to his name. He would even laugh. But he would not form attachments. Red had a purpose and a mission of her own and his thoughts were nothing other than the passing fascination of a lonely old man. She would leave and soon fade into memory. And the Doctor felt that this was how it should be.

"It's not that big of a deal, really," Red said humbly in response to the Doctor's praise. "I'm just a messenger." Then, with sudden deliberate movements, she stuck the hat on her head with both hands and turned to fully face the Doctor.

This was the part of the evening the Doctor had hoped to delay. The muscles in his hand twitched as he prepared to raise it and shake Red's hand in parting. Or maybe a hug was better. The thought of hugging someone he had just met surprised the Doctor at first, but as lonely as he was, he was willing to hug anyone. Maybe he wasn't as curmudgeonly as he used to be. He hoped his appearance somehow reflected that.

"Well," Red said brightly. "I don't think you want to stand about all night while I talk about my work."

The Doctor thought he would love to do just that for as long as she wanted, so long as it delayed the inevitable, but instead he smiled and said, "Guess not," and waited for her farewell.

"Good," she said, now rocking on the balls of her feet. "So what shall we do? I've got two hours to kill in the City of Lights with a tall, dark, and handsome stranger as my company. Time goes by rather quickly, seems a shame not to make it count."

The Doctor felt the tip of his ears grow warm at her compliment. Was he really handsome?(Where was a looking glass when you needed one?) But something else warmed within him as well: hope. And a new thought occurred to him. Maybe having someone new aboard the Tardis was not in the cards for now, but why _couldn't_ he befriend the people he met? And even if his purpose was not adventure and fun, why _couldn't_ he delight in the moments worth enjoying as they came? He hadn't died in the Time War, and there was nothing he could do about that. Maybe he needed to start living.

"Any ideas Doctor?" Red asked. "I think all the shops and most of the museums are closed."

"Eiffel Tower's open till midnight," the Doctor told her. "Ever been to the top?"

"Yeah, I have," she said. "Twice. It's an amazing view."

"Day or night?" he asked.

"Day," Red answered.

"Nighttime is a completely different experience," said the Doctor. If you want to see the _lights_ of the City of Lights, that's the way to do it."

"Then it sounds like we have a plan." Red smiled and surprised him by taking his arm before he even had the chance to think about offering it. He didn't mind.

"Ready?" he asked, still amazed at the turn of events.

Red smiled and nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

**Purple Guest:** Thanks for the review. Yes, Rose got about as personal as she could get, considering what she couldn't say. And the Doctor seems to read her even when she is technically a stranger. Hopefully her words will sink in. I love weaving canon quotes and references into stores-glad you found them!

* * *

**Author's Note**: There is another phrase I keep weaving into the story. Know what it is?

And before anyone mentions it, I am aware that Pete's world has a president (and therefore likely no queen), but I assume Queen Victoria still founded Torchwood sometime before the monarchy dissolved. That is why Rose responds with "Sort of." And in her home world Torchwood _is_ under the Queen.


	12. Chapter 12

**As Time Goes By – Chapter 12**

This was more like it. If Rose had ever imagined running into a version of the Doctor that she knew but who did not know her (though the thought had actually never occurred to her, despite her extensive time travel and dimension hopping), this would be the way she would have wanted it to go. She was chatting happily about all nature of things as she held onto the Doctor's arm and they made their way to the Metro station then down the stairs to the platform. There was an actual spring in her step. Rose had always assumed that the phrase was metaphorical, but she was sure she would have been skipping if she had not been keeping pace with the Doctor. She felt years younger, as if she were nineteen again and the adventure was all new. She could imagine herself being back to a state in which making a footprint in snow over a hundred years in her past was enough to amaze her. It was a time when she had never heard of parallel worlds or the void. There was just the Doctor—her Doctor—and Rose Tyler and the whole wide universe to explore.

As they waited for their train, Rose kept her hold on the Doctor's elbow as if that contact made him all the more real. She wasn't anxious or worried that he would be leaving; it was just a comfort to feel his presence in a concrete way. Behind them near the stairs, a man sat playing the sitar. Rose found herself swaying subtly to the peaceful-yet-haunting music as the memory of one of her journeys with the Doctor played in her mind like a film at the cinema.

"Hey," she said, nudging the Doctor gently with her shoulder, "doesn't this remind you of—" Rose caught herself before she misspoke. The Doctor glanced sideways at her and waited for her to continue, but she couldn't. She couldn't mention the planet of Naya Bharata, which had been founded and settled by colonists from India. She couldn't reminisce about eating sebtaras (a citrus fruit that tasted like an apple) at the Festival of Colors while they watched the sitar players perform. Even though he had been there, looking much the same as he did standing with her in that Paris subway station, she couldn't say a word because he hadn't done those things yet. She could have dwelt on that realization and allowed it to affect her mood, but instead she saw her current situation for what it was: one extra adventure with the deep and intense, yet also manic and witty, Doctor that she first knew.

"Never mind," Rose said with a slight stammer. "Song just seemed familiar, 's' all."

The Doctor nodded. " 'Across the Universe_._' "

Rose's mouth dropped open at the unexpected reply and her mind raced to comprehend his words. The Doctor had likely been to Naya Bharata before he had taken Rose, but she had assumed that he was currently too guarded to share anything about the nature of his travels. But even if he was being candid, why would he have assumed _she_ recognized the music from across the universe?

"Wh-what?" she stammered. It wasn't the most intelligent response, but anything else Rose could think of to say would have revealed too much about herself.

"The song's 'Across the Universe_,' _" said the Doctor, glancing behind him at the man playing the long-necked stringed instrument. "Before that, he was playing 'Norwegian Wood_._' Both are Beatles songs that feature the sitar. That's likely why you recognize it."

"Right. Of course." Rose had to learn to stop jumping to conclusions.

The Metro train arrived, and she and the Doctor boarded. Rose used the mention of the Beatles as a jumping off point for a new topic of conversation, and they spent the ten minutes of the journey plus the time navigating the station and climbing the stairs to their exit discussing their favorite bands. The Doctor told Rose he was fond of band called the Housemartins because their lyrics contained clever references to Marxist and New Testament concepts. Rose then mentioned that she liked the song "500 Miles" by the Proclaimers. Her fondness for the song was the direct result of the younger-faced version of the Doctor blaring it in the console room as he prepared the Tardis for their next journey. _This _Doctor, however, must have been too cynical. He said that any man who was that determined to get to someone he loved could find better means of transport than walking. Rose wanted to tell him that not everyone was privileged enough to have a Tardis, and that it ruined the sentiment to take the song too literally. Instead, she just rolled her eyes, laughed good-naturedly, and moved on other songs.

The discussion about music continued as they walked along the Seine and passed by various street musicians. (They could have taken the Metro almost directly to the Eiffel Tower, but the Doctor said the trip would be more enjoyable with a stroll down the river. Rose quite agreed.) By the time they had reached their destination, they had come full circle in their conversation and had found common ground in their appreciation of the Beatles. Therefore, it made perfect sense that they stopped to watch a street musician sing "Let it Be" while he played an upright piano that he had somehow wheeled to a location just outside the Tower's base.

When the song ended, and crowd diminished, Rose and the Doctor moved closer to the piano player. "It's Billy Joel," joked the Doctor quietly to Rose as he pointed to the piano. Rose looked at the performer. The young man seemed to be his early twenties with short blond feathered hair. He was wearing a black leather jacket and (despite the fact that it was night) rose-colored sunglasses with round wire rims. He looked more like a blend of the young versions of Jude Law, Marlon Brando, and Elton John than Billy Joel at _any_ stage in his career. Rose gave the Doctor a quizzical look, and the Doctor pointed to the sign on the back of the piano that read "PIANO MAN—Sam Foster."

Rose wasn't sure if it was coincidence or if Sam-the-Piano-Man had seen the Doctor's gesture, but he started playing Billy Joel's "Piano Man" and singing with a distinctly American accent. Rose wondered if she and the Doctor should move on and commence with ascending the Tower, but she knew the suggestion to visit the Eiffel Tower was just an excuse that had kept them from saying their goodbyes at the cafe. Therefore, she was content to be in the Doctor's presence while they watched the talented young musician perform. "Piano Man" was followed by the Jerry Lee Lewis' song "Great Balls of Fire," and Rose was thoroughly entertained as the young man practically danced as he played. She glanced over at the Doctor and saw that he was smiling broadly and nodding his head in rhythm to the beat.

After Sam Foster had finished with the song, he stopped to drink some water. The Doctor approached the young performer and praised him for his talent. Then he shook his hand and told him he had especially enjoyed the last song. The singer-pianist thanked the Doctor while Rose made the point to show her appreciation by putting a five euro note in the jar that sat atop the piano. The Doctor noticed her action and began to dig in the pockets of his trousers. He took out a few wadded notes and stuffed them in the jar. "Ready?" he asked Rose. She nodded and followed him as he began to walk toward the ticket counter under the tower.

"Wait!" called a voice from behind them. They both turned around to see Sam Foster running up to them. "I'm sorry," the young man said to the Doctor. "I think you put in these notes in thinking they were fives or something." He held out two wrinkled banknotes—each valuing five hundred euros. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't tell you."

The Doctor looked at the notes, then smiled. "You can keep them," he said.

"But I can't," protested Sam. "I mean—I know I play well, but not one thousand euros well."

"How do you know that?" challenged the Doctor. "Your playing can touch the right person at the right time in a way a performer on stage might never do."

If Sam had wanted to protest, the authority in the Doctor's voice must have stopped him, because he averted his eyes and whispered, "Thank you."

"Keep the money," the Doctor said, "but finish your performance. Make some more people happy."

"I will," Sam said humbly. "Thank you again." He began to walk away, but then turned on his heel and walked back.

"Wait," Sam said. "I can't just walk away and accept one thousand euros without giving you something to say thank you in return." He looked the Doctor up and down then began to remove his black leather jacket. "Someone gave this to me a few weeks ago as a contribution," Sam said. He finished taking off the jacket and draped it over one arm. "I thought I could use it as part of my image, but it just isn't me." He took the jacket with both hands and held it out towards the Doctor. "Maybe you could use it though."

"You want to give me your jacket?" asked the Doctor. Rose thought he sounded flattered. And now that she had seen the jacket up close, she knew she recognized it and that the Doctor would accept it.

"If you want it," Sam said.

"Then I would be honored."

Sam gave the Doctor the jacket, shook his hand, and returned to his piano. Soon Rose could hear Beethoven's composition, Für Elise, coming from behind them. Sam had done as the Doctor asked and was continuing to play.

The Doctor looked at the jacket he had just acquired. "Would you believe this is not the first time a musician has given me their coat?" he said.

"Somehow, yes," Rose responded. His next incarnation would be rather fond of a long coat that he claimed had been given to him by Janis Joplin. Rose had always doubted the veracity of that claim, but now she was inclined to believe it.

"Take this a moment," the Doctor said, taking off the beat-up jacket he had been wearing and handing it to Rose. She complied and watched as the Doctor removed items from its pockets and put them in the pockets of the newer jacket in his hands. She caught a glimpse of the sonic screwdriver as the Doctor removed it from the old jacket and swiftly tucked it into an interior pocket of the black jacket before it could be clearly seen. Then he put on the new jacket and turned from side to side as if he were modelling.

"How does it look?" he asked Rose.

"Looks great," she said. "But it would look better without the clothes underneath." She instantly realized how that must have sounded, and blushed. The Doctor must have had the same impression, because he smirked. She tried again. "I mean you should take off the formal shirt and waistcoat." Rose felt the flush of embarrassment spread across her face. Her best bet was to make light of it. "Oi!" she said with an embarrassed laugh, "Freud would have had a field day with me!"

"Freud was pretentious and entirely too confident in his theories," said the Doctor with the authority of someone who knew him firsthand. "Some slips are just the result of speaking hastily and have no deeper meaning."

Rose was appreciative of the Doctor's response, but Rose thought that Freud might have had it right in her case. "What I meant is that you need a more contemporary look with that jacket," she said. "Maybe something with more color." She lead the Doctor to one of the black posters advertising the _Tour de France_. The plastic casing covering the poster was not as glossy as glass would have been, but still allowed for a hazy reflection. "See?"

The Doctor stared at the cloudy reflection for a moment, moving from side to side to try to get a clearer look. (Rose noticed that the _Tour de France_ logo obscured the reflection of his face.) "You're right," the Doctor agreed. "Needs a bit of color." Then he chuckled. "Maybe I can get a red jumper from one of the violinists we passed by on our walk."

"_Red_?" remarked Rose shoving the Doctor playfully. "Who's Freud's victim now?"

The Doctor shoved Rose back. "That's enough cheek out of you," he said. "Come on. Let's buy the lift tickets before you embarrass yourself too much to come along."

Rose laughed as she walked with the Doctor over to the ticket counter. It had taken most of the evening, but this was how she remembered things: the flirting and playful teasing mixed with genuine appreciation and a feeling of ease in each other's presence. She only wished that so much time had not gone by to get them to that point.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The Housemartins are mentioned in the extended/deleted scene with David Tennant in Human Nature in which the Doctor is giving instructions to Martha. (You can find it on YouTube easily under "The Doctor Hates Pears." I am assuming it is David Tennant, and not the Tenth Doctor, who likes the band, but it was fun to include. And since Nine makes a reference to Marx in The Empty Child, I thought it was a good tie-in.

I also thought it would be fun to contrast this with "500 miles," which is used in the wrap-party video for Tennant's tenure. It seems like a very "Ten" song.

There is a lot of music mentioned in this chapter. As always, I encourage you to check out the songs.

**Another Note**: Trimmed the songs down just a tad. Just to let people know, I am ok with constructive criticism. :)

* * *

**Purple Guest:** Yes the story has gotten sweeter. It was about time for some fluff! Thanks as always for the reviews.

**Linda Who:** Thank you for the praise. This chapter is a bit less intriguing, but hopefully it is fun.


End file.
